Remember.
As she lied in bed, quietly writing out the crappiest story of her life, she wondered, "How did this happen?" How had she fallen
I understand, maybe, what it's like to be someone and really be somebody else. To be a god but really be human because somebody told the wrong lie, and it's kind of my fault you know, but I can't help it. I'm too big to be stopped, and when I try to quit the facade, it just shatters and hurts MY eyes, not theirs, and then I fall deeper into a hole that I only half heartedly started digging. Then I'm real. And I understand. But they don't. I don't think so. Sometimes I can't figure out what it all means, and what I mean, and what I really think. The lore I was told growing up has lost its adhesive, and sometimes a crumble of the picture rolls back up onto my sock, and I remember what it was. But I am empty now. I am happy now. I am different now.
I understand, maybe, what it's like to be someone and really be somebody else. To be a god but really be human because somebody told the wrong lie, and it's kind of my fault you know, but I can't help it. I'm too big to be stopped, and when I try to quit the facade, it just shatters and hurts MY eyes, not theirs, and then I fall deeper into a hole that I only half heartedly started digging. Then I'm real. And I understand. But they don't. I don't think so. Sometimes I can't figure out what it all means, and what I mean, and what I really think. The lore I was told growing up has lost its adhesive, and sometimes a crumble of the picture rolls back up onto my sock, and I remember what it was. But I am empty now. I am happy now. I am different now.