To be treated as “Messes of Men pt. II” for those who listen to mewithoutYou
As you stood and took the hit, my lip was harshly bit, We knew that it wouldn’t be much longer, Till our clothes were shown quite tattered. I would never understand the beauty in my hands, As each drop of blood fell from flesh to asphalt. And I feared the looming face, of his visceral grace, As he had seen what I had done, A frown shown on his guise, with disappointment in his eyes. This is wrong. "I do not exist," forever I shall insist, Until I am buried in the grave. Another mess of men, another obstructed friend, Trepidation has never felt so self-fulfilling.
I remember when we had nothing to lose. But now you can lose everything and I pity you. Everyday you run through my brain and I want to free you. Clip the wings you had from the start but never used. You’re fake now, but I don’t know if you were ever real.
Every talk we had, the friendship I thought I was building, Was probably a game to you. The only relational game I’ve ever lost. I’m probably just as sick as you. Vile. The Vilest.