The hair dye you buy every few months,
Nor the house you grow up in.
So when shall it be appropriate to discuss,
The temporaries that leave goosebumps on skin.
The legs that get you from point A to point B,
And the ears that listen to words that hurt and heal.
The moments when we are carefree,
And the secrets we promise to seal.
Nothing is real,
Nothing is fake.
Everything is surreal,
Everything just a heartache.
Everything is temporary,
Like the pain of a paper cut.
