I know you say that it's not ok, but I
still worry about you night and day. Try as I may, getting you off my mind, is
harder than picking thru hay. Trying to find a needle as it lays, hiding in
every sense of the way. This is the price we have to pay.
Life isn't served on
a silver tray. It's hard and it hurts, try as I may it's still fading to
gray... My rope is beginning to fray, caught in a spray of bullets that
ricochet as we pray over our prey before it gets away. My thoughts weigh so
much they cause me to sway.
All I survey starts to replay; I betray my thoughts
to disobey. And end up right back like 'hey' like nothing’s wrong, but at the
end of the day it may be the only thing that survives this cliché...
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