a hundred thousand brilliant suns (they pale before your smile)
couldn't warm me today (and so like it, bright and cold; fake and meaningless and oh god so distant)
and even in misery i'm hiding how i feel (from you, from anyone; i'm not a wimp, i swear to god i'll kick your ass if you so much as imply it)
my silent sobs make it unreal (but these tears running down my face are undeniable)
and the rot in my stomach with the look on your face
combine to burn mine (covered in egg, filled with heat - a gourmet meal)
my only thought's refuge and i'll never run fast enough to reach escape velocity
so i build myself up instead. i make up for faults with achievements elsewhere
but it's never enough. i try harder, laughing, too; so at least you'll be laughing with me and not at me
(self-deprecation is more than a quirk, it's a mask)
but on days like this, when i sit alone in my room, music blaring (it doesn't matter what, so long as i can't hear myself think)
i could be the only person alive, for all the human contact i've had
(even the brushing of elbows in the hall provides more than what i get from you)
and all around lies evidence of injustice: a friend's brother jilted; little sister with a girlfriend before hers . . .
to the point that not even a soap opera would keep this reject script
my every word is wrong, my actions clumsy and all for naught
i go through the motions without hearing music (i never did learn how to dance)
and these superlatives are marring my intentions, these nevers and worsts and goodbyes
bring connotations unwanted, but no other words are strong enough (like i try to be)
to hold up my feelings, to show who i really am.
and already the pain fades, dulls (as do i, the mask coming through once more
despite myself, even i find myself wanting.)
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