The fear is that I have become
All that I have always loathed with not knowing it
A soul stuck in a room without doors or windows
Just a feeling that all is useless by design.
The words climb all over my heart, so I choose not to speak
For to say all I feel is just a passed off fantasy
A moment of paranoia
But its not its despair, I am screaming, I am screaming , I am screaming , I am screaming
Taken like the pinch of salt I have mined.
I understand that I need never be believed for being ME
So I need to let go, but cant let go of all
You will never know how much I hate being me
To hide amongst the hate and hurt that sits with this mind
This painting is of life, it ages none it has no youth but tries to speak , just tries to speak
And all the while the distance grows between you and me
Where is the washing line Ian