We don’t need a saviour. Our failures are pointed at, flaws glorified and suffering, exaggerated. We live in a world where illusions are personalised experiences. Maybe we need someone who can take the fall; fall for our sins.
She wove the wool like braids for her hair; she tied it to my hand, couldn’t help but stare. Her breath smelt like fresh mints, the one people chew after they smoke. She tied it so hard, it reminded me of all the times I was constipated. Is this real? Or is this all inside…
A leaf doesn’t have to be dry To fall.
Her love was like a shovel, you know, I dug my grave with it
Pain, my dear And nothing else Keeps me sane ‘cuz when I looked up To the skies for sun, All I got was rain
Neither are you scary Nor is what we share What I dread is the person you imagine me to be Stranded between hope and despair It’s hard being the one people imagine me to be, I’m not it. I can never be. I’m just me.