(no subject)

Aug 01, 2005 02:03

the true hero never comes
this room was stale just like the others all eyes on her and all hearts on sleeves the envy growing into choking proportions drawing life from hidden glares and distant glances creeping out from the shadows of insecure peers they can only imagine what its like to be brave enough to imagine life on their own terms like she does but she is unaware that their respect is really just that cloaked in shades of brilliant green all she knows is right now gazes are penetrating this life once again and the pressure is making the claustrophobia set in the laws of irony state that every attempt to destroy loneliness must result in the creation of an introspective prison that place which she withdraws to when everyone is certain that she is the only one who truly can be she does not need commendation at this her weakest hour the time when she must display her true strength she needs me needs my imperfection needs my insecurity needs just that which will withhold my presence from her because i could never play the hero i cant even speak her name
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