from december 10
Earshot, eyesight.
The face you paint to please.
The front you compose; the flaws you dare not reveal.
Consumed with porcelain vanity at dusk.
Tonight you're giving way for the release.
Crossed the line, with hands of red.
Worn, torn by your own hands.
Let out the endorphins.
It's all penned down, but you can't let it out.
Awkward confessions tensely linger.
Fearing the level of acquaintance.
The friction between the truth and the told.
Half repressed confessions, the lines marked in bold.
Return to your dimension in dementia.
Euphoria is just a click away.
The face you paint to please.
The front you compose; the flaws you dare not reveal.
Consumed with porcelain vanity at dusk.
Tonight you're giving way for the release.
Crossed the line, with hands of red.
Worn, torn by your own hands.
Let out the endorphins.
It's all penned down, but you can't let it out.
Awkward confessions tensely linger.
Fearing the level of acquaintance.
The friction between the truth and the told.
Half repressed confessions, the lines marked in bold.
Return to your dimension in dementia.
Euphoria is just a click away.