You can't see all the people dying, you don't see you don't need darling.
When you fall apart, you'll know by now, I'm not that kind of girl, it's just "I don't have the time".
I know that you're an artist, the hardest one to deal with. Everything you conceal is revealed on your canvas. You find all of your ugly meanings in the things I find beautiful. Do you see the fall is coming? You painted me in pastel, colors that don't tell of any boldness. That's the way you'd love to see me: so delicate, so weak, so little purpose. Your eyes are black so cold, they're so imperfect. They see a sleeping world, where waking isn't worth it. How, can you live without your lies?
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