Anymore,
And no one is under a guise,
Of any sort.
You're more in love with your thoughts,
Than anything.
In your perceived inferiority,
Pride was the only thing that grew,
As if you thought it would save you,
- the irony.
I am always here,
But you are not,
You will always push,
And pull,
And twist and turn and ruin,
To break the box we've put you in,
So you think.
You've always been constantly on the brink,
Just out of sight and out of reach
From where you're meant to be,
But never would you let another help you to see,
It doesn't last long,
When for a while we get along,
Though I've taught my heart not to hurt,
Anymore.
