2002-02-07 - 7:22 a.m.
I saw you the other day; you were looking at all the broken glass.
Things that shatter in your own heart reflected on the ground.
You always said I love you with your own blood, only for the scar.
All you can do is push away; I am not the one that could change you.
You blame it all on my sorrows and twist the knife when you're down.
The stains left in my own hands won't wash away with your fake tears.
Only serve to burn them deeper on my soul, left charred and black.
You hold me to standers that god wouldn't stand up to, never a chance.
The hollow pictures you left only to disappear from my own sight.
Hating me for the things I did in the past, long before the time we met.
Far be it from me to deny your suffering, the only thing you will let happen.
When you lied and tried to hold me close I could only push away.
I will not ask your forgiveness for things I never did.
.
.
.
It is only when we lose everthing, that we are free to do any thing.
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