Doesn't seem to matter
Where this road leads
we believe in angels
But With shadows, we plead
To flip the switch
Turn off the guilt.

Our feet smell of beer
our hair of cigarettes
They don't judge us
we judge ourselves
For treading the beaten path
And even the sky fills with ash
Blocking out the angels
we thought we were

Somewhere in there
Through lashes that imprison light,
I painted scars, Where skin never broke.
It was a stifling work of empty
I wanted to breathe nothing less,
nothing else.

promise...
not to take away the pain,
if I do not hate the rain,
then what do I have?

I develop
an aversion To being alone
A penchant for tinted glass
an affinity to poetry

I say "I'm finding yourself"
But I'm really running away
From the things, I let go
But they never went far.

promise...
not to let go of the pain,
if I do not hate the rain,
then what do I have?