I need your hate.
Why must you scorn me that,
when you scorn me not for what I've done?
At times like this I go for runs,
and my burning lungs
and screaming legs always
do wonders to clear my head.
My choices rim eyes
with violent red,
my words flow wherever lead
but lack any meaning.
I need pain.
I need thunder in my veins.
I need to up and leave this place-
there are too many faces I try to avoid,
and mine always makes an appearance.
What's left of me's on clearance.
I don't want these empty moments,
these blurry memories.
I hate these stone-cold lips,
these far-away eyes.
There's a box of nothing beneath my guise,
to which I retreat now and again.
When will these days end?
I'm wasting away.
Concrete melts to brackish water,
and from the banks I just drift farther.
What does he see between these broken lines?
Look on me with disgust
because your tears have turned me to rust,
and your affections, turned me cold.
I'll be running when I'm old.
I can't handle soft eyes,
or gentle demeanor.
Every day these bones
just grow leaner.
If you don't know what I'm on about,
I'm trying to say that love runs out.
I wish I could feel as vivid
as those words breathed from the air by hearts on sleeves.
Maybe I listen because I want to know
what it's like
to live on the other side of this wall.
They exclaim how the mighty fall,
yet I'm still standing.
I guess I am weak with dissatisfaction.
My own existence is an infraction
upon humble tones of brick graffiti.
I don't want you to see me
like this.
I don't want you to know about the girl that can't listen to music
because it reminds her of her missing parts,
who cries without reason in the darkest corner of her bed.
A vacuum wraps my lonely head
and drowns everything out.
How come my lyrics
are the ones nobody sings?
How can you not tell
I'm just a machine?
