I said I'm sorry. I've had better days, and it's nothing worth trying to explain. I'll keep my mouth shut, I'll keep my eyes fixed on the ground, and let silence fill the distance between us.
I've been walking across this tightrope, and now I'm hanging by a thread, giving my word I won't let go. But I know these words don't mean a thing when my actions scream so loud that I can't think straight. These words don't mean a thing when I don't believe a single one I say.
I will let you down.
What's it like talking to a wall? Are you in good company watching it chip away silently? And does it hurt you like it hurts me to watch the colors run down the sides, exposing everything that the paint tried so hard to hide?
Does it hurt you like it hurts me to watch the colors run down and bleed?
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