Dimly lit rooms
In the dead of the night
Dimly lit thoughts
In my bed without light
I lay with these thoughts
Racing through my head
All these voices
Whispering in my bed
Voices of the night
Pillow talk
I run, take flight
I can’t even walk
I’m stuck in an up,
In a down
I bow my head
Only I know of my crown
I wear it for this kingdom below
I wear it for the sins
I chose not to show
You want to talk
And you want to hear
But you can not ever know
Who I am, my dear.
People act like they want to know you. But do they? They act like your story is something special, but if something is special you don’t give it to just anyone do you?