Our love is like a withered rose
But how dare I compare thee?
For the heart given, will soon be disposed
Because I am not she
Tis the hollow eyes of one's so blue?
Or the painful shatter of my heart?
You make me regret everything I do
And everything I did not start
Seven pounds, and I am drowning
This heart will never mend
And you stand above me, towering
Is this truly where we end?
The dead silence answers my plea
Because you are not she
About Me
- Silent
- I like having a private, unknown identity. It sort of makes me feel like a superhero...except, instead of saving the world, I'm saving myself from internally combusting. But isn't that what being a superhero is all about? Not saving others...but saving yourself...?
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