Sep 13, 2006 18:53
'You painted me in pastel,
colors that don’t tell of any boldness.
That’s the way you’d love to see me:
so delicate, so weak, so little purpose.
But your eyes are drawn of charcoal
they’re black, they’re so cold, they’re so imperfect.
Because they see a sleeping world,
where waking isn’t worth it.'
i dont know how i lived before that song came into my life.