This world is a dream with a nightmare underneath. Underneath the hair and head are thoughts of far worse than anything I ever conversed, even when I shared my darkest secrets in your bed. Because who would talk to someone who said they would always be there and then did a reverse? Shunned by the very people who faked the affection that we so rightfully deserve. I've had it done to me by family and friends like I'm under a constant curse. I think that maybe this time it'll be different but it only gets worse. These thoughts are finally getting through the cracks and I'll try as hard as I can to get my words back. I can't hold them all in my hands and you'll choke on them if they ever leave my mouth. This whole thing is about to go south and create doubt of the very thing you sought out. You wanted me to tell you how I feel. Well here it goes: What's the big deal? Who cares what I think or what I say? I'm just another boy on another ordinary day. I can't write poems and I can't sing songs. I can't play guitar and I can't run that long. I'm not another athlete. I'm not the smartest kid. I don't have the best hair. And I can't I'm just another speck along the face of the planet. So who the **** would care if I let myself sink into the dirt to relive the hurt and meet the granite.