People ask me why I believe

And so I tell them the things,
That they don’t want to hear about me.

I tell them of all the smiles,

That wouldn’t reach my eyes.

I tell them of all the laughs, that passed, just as fast

As they came by.

I tell them about my anger,

of which is all consuming

I tell them how to me it really is the best feeling.

I tell them of the scars that drip down my legs,

I tell them how it came to be this way.

They don’t understand, so why do I bother to explain.

In the end, it’s between me and Him.

And in His eyes it seems to be all the same.