I don't know how to express myself anymore, because you've proven words are lies.
I don't trust the definition of the things that people say, because you always meant otherwise.
I don't know how to take it when someone waves a simply hi,
When you can so simply wave at me with a smile, but only mean goodbye.
I can't sit and read to quiet my inner rages,
These words and books are meaningless, and books are nothing without pages.
I can't read a stop sign without thinking its a green light,
And you can't give me honesty because you'd rather start a fight.
I no longer value the art of smithing words,
You only twisted them to please me, then let them fly away like birds.
But birds are not words, and you are not a truthful speaker,
Using dreamy scenarios to make my stone heart weaker.
I am a writer, and words will always be my savior,
But all the things on paper now act with questionable behavior.
I am a writer, a reader, and a lover of the art, but you wrote a perfect story for me, then took out my favorite part.
So I will not trust books, or loose pages that rips out and flies.
And I will not trust you, for you are an author of lies.
