Sometimes the image You see of yourself in the mirror Is a reflection of what You think of yourself at that moment Ugly, beautiful, maybe Maybe it's all in your head
You insist the shadow That follows me all day isn't you And I swear that it takes your shape; Why then do I still see you When I look in the mirror at night And in my dreams You are in everything Everywhere I look What have you done to me?
My mind is ill, But it's not the voices inside that torment But the voices outside They call me all sorts Of names, they speak Without thinking how their words Feed the dreaded voices inside Of my head, till it's too late I wish it was different...
Your eyes are poetry I get them Yet I don't get them That fearsome depth I revel and drown and I'm not even ashamed Like poetry; words giving meaning to my thoughts Your eyes control the rhythm To my heartbeat Fast or slow Blink and I'll miss a beat To the dance of your lashes I'm drunk and lost.
"I'm not ready yet" A sentence I've used Time and again and I feel like I should clarify That I'm building myself To be the home I think you deserve; Nobody likes the inconvenience Of a building that's incomplete It's not not even about luxury it's about the safety We both need To afford forever