Blending with Black

You push my black with your coloured painted palette 

I'd rather be the paper than the painter.

Slick strokes created the mirage of a bond once held together by a frame.

No longer a picture perfect portrait.

Friends biologically formed.

And drifting,

Don't let my solitude break your heart.

I like to stay closed while you blossom next to me.

Watch the world, I will watch you capture it.

But inside my closed petals, there is another I have made my own.

The Worthless World

They don't need to hear the secrets.
They don't need to understand.

Be safe within yourself.
Within your little box,
Your little cage.
Stocked away.

Protected. Numb. Hiding.

Away from the world who are willing to hurt you
With everything they can.

The Pretentious

The secrets that are eating away at our insides,

The smiles we use to look happy when really we're sad, 

The cover-up's, and the masks to hide just who we are..

Make us different, and interesting. 

Then I think that it would be better if these things came out,

instead of letting them tear you to pieces.

Dust

I'd rather have the silence.
Then your strung out old fake words.
I'm tired of looking through dust.

Tired of looking at all.

If you want me then I can try to understand,
But don't act like you do,
and then suddenly walk away.
As if nothing happened.
As if you don't even know me.

I'd rather be alone,
Than share my secrets.
Than turn to your worthless sympathy.

You were never worth a conversation.
You were never worth an introduction.
You were never worth becoming a person to me.