it's us.
I’m a shoe. And you’re a traffic sign.
First I was worn well by someone who wore socks and had nice smelling feet. Someone who only walked along the nice paved roads.
You were the traffic sign, painted with bright colors, giving instructions, telling me where to go. You were tough, and I could lean on you when I was tired. You never complained.
But then I was worn by someone else. Someone who stuck their bare, smelly feet in carelessly and walked along the muddy paths. Their nails dug in me from the inside, their routes dirtied me from the outside.
I cried. Oh, I cried.
My tears fell down, and they made you rusty. Made you harsh on the outside and fragile on the inside.
I was a cigarette butt. Thrown away, useless. Burning quietly on the ground.
The person wearing me, they stepped on it. They put out the flame, and I let them. I was the shoe that stepped on my flame.
But you. You still had a flame. You were scorching hot and I needed it. I was afraid of it, it would burn me. But I needed you. The burns on my skin will never hurt as much as the mud.
A soft pillow will suffocate just as much as the rope. You’re not soft. Never have been, aren’t now.
So… You’ll still hold me, right? ‘Cause you’re… You’re not beautiful either. Maybe it was my fault, maybe it was yours. But you’re bruised, I’m scarred. We’re not beautiful.
So you’ll embrace me, right? You’ll burn me with your flame and I’ll taint you with my mud. It won’t break me, I promise.
Just because, we.
It’s us.
I’m a shoe and you’re a traffic sign. Not the same, but not from completely different worlds either.
It’s just that… You never complain.
A/N: This is again one of those things that were in my head for a few days before I finally wrote it down. I'm not sure if the message gets conveyed in the way I meant it to, but even though I wanna explain it I won't because stuff like this shouldn't be explained.
First I was worn well by someone who wore socks and had nice smelling feet. Someone who only walked along the nice paved roads.
You were the traffic sign, painted with bright colors, giving instructions, telling me where to go. You were tough, and I could lean on you when I was tired. You never complained.
But then I was worn by someone else. Someone who stuck their bare, smelly feet in carelessly and walked along the muddy paths. Their nails dug in me from the inside, their routes dirtied me from the outside.
I cried. Oh, I cried.
My tears fell down, and they made you rusty. Made you harsh on the outside and fragile on the inside.
I was a cigarette butt. Thrown away, useless. Burning quietly on the ground.
The person wearing me, they stepped on it. They put out the flame, and I let them. I was the shoe that stepped on my flame.
But you. You still had a flame. You were scorching hot and I needed it. I was afraid of it, it would burn me. But I needed you. The burns on my skin will never hurt as much as the mud.
A soft pillow will suffocate just as much as the rope. You’re not soft. Never have been, aren’t now.
So… You’ll still hold me, right? ‘Cause you’re… You’re not beautiful either. Maybe it was my fault, maybe it was yours. But you’re bruised, I’m scarred. We’re not beautiful.
So you’ll embrace me, right? You’ll burn me with your flame and I’ll taint you with my mud. It won’t break me, I promise.
Just because, we.
It’s us.
I’m a shoe and you’re a traffic sign. Not the same, but not from completely different worlds either.
It’s just that… You never complain.
A/N: This is again one of those things that were in my head for a few days before I finally wrote it down. I'm not sure if the message gets conveyed in the way I meant it to, but even though I wanna explain it I won't because stuff like this shouldn't be explained.