Listen, I still have deep feelings for you. But I’m not gonna be chasing you. I refuse to be your puppet that follows your every move out here. You blew your chance when I gave my all in the beginning. You played on that. You broke that bond. It’s your fault why I don’t love you the same, my love. And yet, I’m willing to give it another shot for redemption. I just need you to open your eyes. You know I’m more than a “good man.” Stop running game. Stop running this race.
there's secrets, hidden beneath the corduroy a world of wonder where admission varies guest to guest, it's a game of guess at whether you're let in or you're like the rest, corduroy's the fashion though for sure they'll be others that hold you high up just to push you down under
You are never clear with me about What it is you want. I always have to guess. Is this just a game to you? Is my heart a play thing; somewhere for you to make a mess? Or maybe it's a dream meaning It's all made up And I should wake up.
I want to Give you All Of me. But I gotta know You want me I Gotta know you Need me Know that You can complete me.
I'm ready to become Whole again
Bits of my soul, Fragments S h a t t e r e d by senselessness.
blacked in sin.
I need my peace back. I don't like to ask But I hate to guess I'm wondering - Can you be that?
I guess I must be A criminal Because I Am a prisoner And people hurt For a reason As far as Reasons go I don't have many Just a bucket Full of guilty Misbeliefs All the lies That I tell To the me In the mirror I know I'm No good But god I'm Just a little girl Only fifteen Aren't I allowed To think I'm pretty Can't I believe That someone Might love me What happened To twirling my Fingers in My curled hair Because they All say to Trust my intuition But intuition's A ***** And she says Everything I don't want To hear That is my Heartbreak Reality My saddest Totality
I am not Pretty I am not Witty I am not Smart I am not Creative I am not Loving Nor am I Loved I am not Perfect I am not Enough
I don't know what to believe anymore. Sometimes, I want to believe that I am not bad, but it just seems so fake. I know I'm full of ****, and I might as well own it. Right?