I decorate my insides with insecurities, figurative infidelities and photos of the person I used to be.
I can’t help but obsess about the past that I can’t remember, a lost love, and friends that should’ve been forever
I sit quietly and try to overcome the words I never said and the things I've never done
Isn’t ironic that it is what it is; and we are who we are?
That the past is behind us and the future isn’t far?
I paint the walls of my mind with secret fears in places that no one will ever find
I found that the things that I can’t get over always include an image of you and things I didn’t do
I’ve hidden myself behind a curiously large ego and answers to question that I don’t know
The irony of this situation gives me a strange sensation
Of Future fears and recently passed tears
I’ve sculpted an internal statue of myself with all the pieces that are left
From hopes and dreams, issues with no closure and promises I haven’t kept
I portray myself as a superman which couldn’t be further from what I am!
Only one knows what is to come and only I know where I’m coming from
It’s ironic the closet people there are seem as if they’re so far
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