Sitting here listening to this song that makes me cry.

A song I've always listened to and cried at,

but not for real.

But now it hurts me so much and I

don't know why I listen.

Because I know it will make me cry.


Sitting here thinking thse thoughts that always make me cry.

Thoughts I'll always have and hurt from,

but never used to.

But now I think them always and I

don't know why I listen.

Because I know they will make me cry.


It's all a farce, a sham, a lie.

It's all a parade, a masquerade.

It's the reason I have a playlist of sad songs.

The reason I ran away long ago.

The reason I lied to everyone.

Because I know it will make me cry.


I make these tears fill my eyes and

these thoughts fill my mind and I

play the music and I lie in bed

at night and imagine monsters in the shadows.

But the mosters aren't real.

They are furniture, piles of clothes, my grey cat coming

to spend the night below my window.

I know this. But still I watch these

shapes, engulfed in heart-pounding terror.


All the drama is a fabrication. All the

heartbreak is planned and plotted. Ever so

carefully I mapped it out, without ever knowing.

It was all so perfect.


But I made one mistake as I set my stage.

While I spruced up the costumes and I

dusted off the props I forgot.

And it wasn't until far too late, when the play was

already going strong, that I remembered;

I never wrote an end to the play.


So it will go on forever and I

will forget. As I speak my lines I will forget that

these tears were ever forced, that this

pain was a self-set trap.


Because tears and pain have become my life.

I made it that way, with my songs and my thoughts,

because I knew they would make me cry.

And my pain was a thrill and I cried and forgot

how to go back.