Sometimes I Lie

Sometimes I feel like everyone is happier than I am, as though they’re all in on a secret I’m not privy to

I can’t sleep now, I’m too afraid. Scared of what I know, scared of what I don’t.

Sometimes things have to get messy in order to be cleaned up.

Some people appear happy on the outside and you only know they’re broken inside if you listen as well as look.

I suppose it must be hard to kill something that’s already dead.

Fear of the unknown is always greater than fear of the familiar.

It’s a strange sensation, reading your own history through another person’s eyes. Your version of the truth is a little bent out of shape because it’s no longer your own.

To live, I have to pretend like I’m already dead.

I’ve still got my scars, just because they’re on the inside doesn’t mean they’re not there.

I want to create a memory that isn’t torn before it’s made.