There are people who
tend to dissapoint,
their voices bringing only
clouds of tiredness.
You're caught in the middle,
watching it all,
but not really there.
That's okay,
you try to tell yourself,
they're happy without you.
There are diamonds
falling from the skies
falling from your eyes
falling from the lies.
They tumble and shine
like a million lights
cascading from the heavens.
But I'm tired,
of your fire.
Because I'm caught in the middle,
watching it all
but not really there.
I know they're
happy without me.
Without me.
Dark rooms, cold hearts,
Quite thoughts, new starts,
Deep breaths, warm tears,
Absent people, screaming fears
Lipstick stains, white shirts,
All flowers grow from dirt.
So don't speak of madness again.
We're just caught in the middle
and it's so simple;
we should just fade
and then we'd be gone.
I'm caught in the middle
watching it all
but not really here.
But I'm okay,
I try to tell myself
they're happy
without me.
