Everyone will only ever remember the negative. Even if you do everything they say and everything they want, the only thing that they will ever remember are the times that you hurt them, and the times that you make them bleed. Call me worthless, say I don't listen, say I wouldn't ever possibly do this for whatever reason.
Fabricate reasons to justify to yourself what you accuse me of, what is it that I "probably" do? Do you even know the things you say I do? No, of course you don't. "Good enough" is relative. Another one of those things that goes on and on, but no one ever really knows how far to go, and when to look back.
It's hard to fake a smile. If you were blind, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a fabricated and geniune smile, laughter for the sake of appeasing those around you and laughter because something is actually funny. I can't vent, I can't rant, there's no one to talk to, no one's willing to listen.
I'm going crazy inside my head, I don't know what to do anymore. It feels like I'm trying, but to no avail. What's left for me to do? My knife is only a foot away from me. No, that's the coward's way out, and I haven't given up just yet.
What would it take for me to make you finally believe in me? Do I have to bring myself to the brink of extinction before someone will finally take note? To push myself above and beyond my every limitation, until I rip myself asunder? I do listen. Every word, every syllable, every sentence. Whether or not it seems like I do, I do listen. Every word stings ever so much more than the ones before them and I don't know what I have to do to make you know and understand.
You might say I'm trying too hard, I say I'm not trying hard enough. You might say I'm not trying at all, when I'm giving it everything I have. Everyone's scapegoat. Everyone's favourite scratching post. To take, but never to reciprocate. If you want to break me, then do so already.
I am not the fire. Just the shadow it casts.
Fabricate reasons to justify to yourself what you accuse me of, what is it that I "probably" do? Do you even know the things you say I do? No, of course you don't. "Good enough" is relative. Another one of those things that goes on and on, but no one ever really knows how far to go, and when to look back.
It's hard to fake a smile. If you were blind, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a fabricated and geniune smile, laughter for the sake of appeasing those around you and laughter because something is actually funny. I can't vent, I can't rant, there's no one to talk to, no one's willing to listen.
I'm going crazy inside my head, I don't know what to do anymore. It feels like I'm trying, but to no avail. What's left for me to do? My knife is only a foot away from me. No, that's the coward's way out, and I haven't given up just yet.
What would it take for me to make you finally believe in me? Do I have to bring myself to the brink of extinction before someone will finally take note? To push myself above and beyond my every limitation, until I rip myself asunder? I do listen. Every word, every syllable, every sentence. Whether or not it seems like I do, I do listen. Every word stings ever so much more than the ones before them and I don't know what I have to do to make you know and understand.
You might say I'm trying too hard, I say I'm not trying hard enough. You might say I'm not trying at all, when I'm giving it everything I have. Everyone's scapegoat. Everyone's favourite scratching post. To take, but never to reciprocate. If you want to break me, then do so already.
I am not the fire. Just the shadow it casts.
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