If feelings are real why am I judged when I feel? Why is a heart only of value when its not tattered to shreds, battered and dead, lonely and cold my home is my bed.

Instead of wondering why I say what I said know I live alive but feel like I'm dead.

Having a heart is something of value, you say this yet still hearts torn apart walk on a line, on the left is appearance, the right a result of society's malfeasance. Left is for eyes. The right why hope dies.

I need my mom. I need my Dad.. I need back the family that I once had. Give me the love and give me the past. Help me live a life of hope truly unmasked. Task of a saint, heart of blue paint, people have tried but my heart has grown faint.

Agony inside, weight of the world, strength of steel, cruel and unreal.

This is damage you cannot heal. This is hope slain and then pain been made real. It's exposing my heart but that's how I feel.

Smiles can be the best lie.

We both know why.