so, tell me, what are my words worth?
can they build castles like they told me as they a child?
or are they nothing, simple letters on a page
idle talk that falls out of careless mouths
meaningless as i twist them and form them
into the lies that you tell me they are
and perhaps they are, but i don't intend them to be
they're the world as i see them through my own eyes
and you can't blame me, you know?
i've grown accustomed to the rose-colored glasses you glued on my face
YOU ARE READING
Serenity - A Journal Of Some Sort
RandomThey tell me that what I create is chaos. But what I create is the only thing that brings me serenity. ~ warning: this book abruptly switches from deep personal narratives to really random stuff so hop on and enjoy the ride
