Stain

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The Divine Eternal

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Too much anger has my brain on hold
Too much wondering if I will grow old
It's awfully tiring, to be someone you're not
In the hopes that some someone will make you think you are loved

Too much talking in a forceful tone
My ears are hurting and I want to go home
I have a warm bed, a cat, and window
And you are nothing- a plant that won't grow

Being alone isn't quite so bad when the opposite is
You, turned away in your bed
And the sheets are stained with damp regret
And my hands hold the patterns of wishing we were dead

You are a cold, cold evening in march
Your breath is the feeling of a car door closed tight
Loving you isn't a love I'll be honest
It's masturbating and crying in the dead of the night

Too much anger has my brain on hold
Too much wondering if I will grow old
It's awfully tiring, to be someone you're not
In the hopes that some someone will make you think you are loved

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