I’m not sure how i really feel
I never am
That’s the curse of infatuation
The curse of mental illness
The curse of saying you love hard
When in reality you don’t know what love feels like
I’ve never seen true love
But i am a master in manipulation
I know exactly how to get what i need
But you can’t manipulate your way into love
I’ve tried
I’ve mimicked their mannerisms
Become someone i thought they’d want to love
But i’ve never been enough
Despite ripping myself apart
Over and over again
I’m left with pieces of confetti floating away after the last song of a concert
And i don’t know how to pick up my bits and pieces anymore
So i keep finding the next infatuation
Hoping they will grab a broom and help me
Or at least slow the wind from blowing me away
But i’m always left crying in my bed
Wondering what i could have done differently
Never considering maybe i wasn’t the issue
Because if i have destroyed myself for others
if refuse to believe my work was in vain
The curse of mental illness and trauma
Makes the victim believe they must be at fault
And if they would have been better or different it wouldn’t have happened to them
Otherwise you run the risk of becoming cold and hard
Because how can you ever trust again when people are capable of such cruelty?