Like a star without its dreams.

I’m so sick of spilling my guts. So find me a new pack of secrets and a new bag of lies, because I’m tired of acting in the roll of “I’m just fine.”  I’ve traced the lace on this table cloth for quiet some time and I’ve blamed myself for hiding way too long. This is where I’ll be frail and broken stuffing my pain under the blood stained rug, with the light flickering above. I could say I’m losing every one of them and feeling everything I’ve ever felt but only a few would care and only a few feelings would linger long enough to last. I will hold back my secret of killing till my skin grows thin and I can’t move on before the wave’s crash in. I know, I know I can’t let it go until you tell me so. I am miserable and a terrible wreck, with scars still lying across my back. I’ll live to breath in these breaths, numb enough to barely feel the fire go across my finger tips, and I’ll lay her in the dark thinking to myself How I wanted things this way.