They don't know how it is to be me,
Wrapped up in my own misery...

I hate how they are,
I hate how they lie...

I wonder if it hurt when her life was taken away.
When she said her last words, on that cold winter...

Tell me a made up story. That brings me to a place...
Give me a fake lie. I will be eternally grateful...

How come I keep writing these poems about you?
Why do I still feel the need to be around you...

I guess I had misunderstood you when you told me...
I supposed I just made it all up, now my feelings...

Everyone knows me now, they see right through me.
And I kind of miss how, all my secrets you would...

I miss the way it all felt.
The way the pain inside began to melt...