lying lying lying

i used to write about him

endlessly

in tattered journal pages

and in cheesy poems

but i didn't want to admit it

i didn't want to admit

the fact that he was gone

and writing him into paper

wasn't going to bring back

the person i once knew

i didn't want to admit

that i wasn't in love-

that instead, i was cold and lonely

for endless summer nights

in the pitch black vacuum of my room

when everyone else was sound asleep

and i should've been, too

i guess at that time

i just didn't want to admit

the fact that i was too busy writing

to realize i was just lying to myself

so this is me finally admitting it-

this is my apology letter

for blindly lying to myself,

for believing the miserable lie

that writing about him

would bring us back to life

because so far it hasn't worked

and i'm undeniably sick

of lying to myself

and ignorantly believing it will

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