forget what you thought when you thought you could think
while you sleep i am sitting here praying that ink
will run out of my pen but it won't and i never will either
a needle, a vein, and a bubble of air would be cheaper
than living my life
i do live every night, i do live and i write
tell me, what have you done that you're proud of? what trophies
can tell me you're better than me? you don't know me
the pain of words spoken and no such reaction to love
are you broken? i think not, you think not of all that's above
what i hold in my hands
who are you who have always been asked for a dance?
you do not know what it is to burn, you do not know of waiting your turn
you do not know the hurt
of a beautiful soul that was shattered and stabbed
and you know not of this, oh, the soul that i have
...that's right...
© 2004
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