i'm tired of dancing on a pot of gold, flake paint
tonight it’s far too late, to decipher or differentiate, between insinuation and incrimination. no attempt was made to dispel the truth, to disprove my declaration made, or conceal the convulsions it created. just a mere nod to poetics pronounced. but i feel free of such childish things, when you speak so easily, your voice is poured into every part of me, and covers all the cracks you can’t see. now you don’t speak, and i know the defeating dismay, of a heart that shared its home, and was turned away, cause you can recall, just one kiss one boy gave, one night many dreams ago, and that’s a shame, cause i like you, i never see you