Kiss My Eyelids And Sing Me To Sleep

It's funny how very simple and intricate illusions can be. I don't ever want to know where the blades go, or how the assistant steps out unharmed. If the world came to an end, I'd rather stay blindfolded than open my eyes.

Small amounts of "genuine" have dressed themselves in black and invaded the corners of my lips. Pulling them towards the stars and convincing them to spend the night. My stomach turns when you're near but only in the best directions.

I'm faking everything, just to look like more of a loser because that's all I've ever known. These knuckles are bruised from fights that never happened except in my head. I was looking for comfort in all the wrong places, steel wool instead of silk.

My greatest flaw is my obsession with feeling sorry for myself... no wait... my greatest flaw is my inherent need to document it. If you read between the lines, you'd realize I don't mean half of what I say, and everything that I don't. It's hard to be completely honest, when the world revolves around how well you can lie. I can manipulate people without realizing it, if only to get myself out of a jam. Bending (over) the truth has become a habit. I'm losing my sight from staring at keyboards in the dark, trying to be everything to everyone, and nothing to myself.