Tuesday, March 2, 2010

The Streetlights Are On

You are beautiful because you can always see clearly. You tell me what to believe and suddenly I know it exists. You make the world make sense.
Fuck this. I can't even see half the things I point others toward. I make others see oasises in black ditches and they can see. But I can't. Because the whole time I was just pretending.
I can't be brave. I'm scared of everything. Love. Needles. Snakes. Rejection. Death. God. War. Cold. Hot. Tsunamis. Sometimes even heights. Because everything can hurt you. And I think I'm going to hide. Hide in this tiny box and show people the things they want to see. I wish I could die inside so I could function on my fucking seventh level of Kohlberg's moral development and preach conscience and truth.
Here you go.
I'm only beautiful on a pedastal. When you can't understand that I'm human.
Just. Like. You.

Ps. I'm scared of letting a dream go.

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