I'm on the outside
looking in, staring
through the glass with
both hands breaking through.
Nothing is what it seems,
illusions of a
rose-colored life.
They are smiling,
they are laughing,
they are the
beautiful people we've always
strived to be.
But the light that
really bathes then lacks a
pulse;
it is dark and cold like
snowless solstice nights.
What we don't realize is
that they're looking out
at us,
wishing for the skies and
abnormality that we take
for granted.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
I'm on the outside
looking in, staring
through the glass with
both hands breaking through.
Nothing is what it seems,
illusions of a
rose-colored life.
They are smiling,
they are laughing,
they are the
beautiful people we've always
strived to be.
But the light that
really bathes then lacks a
pulse;
it is dark and cold like
snowless solstice nights.
What we don't realize is
that they're looking out
at us,
wishing for the skies and
abnormality that we take
for granted.
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