Your writings are like blank pieces of meaningless sentences. They lost meaning, when your true side was brought out under the hidden curtains of yours. Out of everyone i believed that you and I had similar connections towards love. But i was completely wrong. Only through your words, you make up who you are. You only write what you want. Who you want to be. Your never going to get what you want, or become the person you want to be if you don't make those emotions of yours in your writings true and real,that actually influences your every action and every word that comes out of your mouth.
Written words don't completely define who you are. Its part of you, but its not necessarily makes you, you. Part of reality and the outside world of those letters tell a story. If reality doesn't exist, your nothing but fake glass. The way you write, how your speech forms. Its not your gift. Your gift is lying to yourself, and everyone else who you fooled ever so selfishly. The only things you care about is your longings, your desires, your own emotions. You may say that you think about others and you care. Do those words really have a part in your true self?
You have eyes, but honestly your no better than a blind person. At least they can see past their own pain, and see, and feel others. Its okay if you don't cry. Its okay if no one hurts you. Its okay if you stab others hearts. Its okay if you ruin others. Everything is okay, only if your okay. When your mind is made up, your ears are plugged closed. You refuse to listen to others and see from their own perspective. Its as if you have the right to judge. Its as if you only know whats right. Its as if you know whats going on through the entire world. Its as if, you only matter.
Anger bulges out like a gush stream of lava pumping out blood.
A rush of thunder bolted through the green fields,
like the trust of beauty destroyed.
A beautiful girl she was.
Shes nothing more than a dull plain outsider.
Plastic, fake and unreal.
Only through paper she dreams of who she can be,
what she wants.
I use to lean on you.
All there is now
is quick sand that sinks me down with every memory I have of you.
Suffocate, in your lonely judgement and knowledge.
Ignore the faithful ones,
and become an injustice hero.
burn the hearts of who love you.
its only letters you have to talk to.
The devious act of yours,
I've opened your hidden blinds.
Who are you,