Man I loved being abused And I think you did too Kinda wish it wasn't over Please come back my four leaf clover Maybe it's no self respect My problem is that I easily forget You and I are the same in that And I think you also want to come back I think the abuse was love A traumatized version from above Neither of us could admit it So we kinda had to split it As Kanye says run away There's nothing left for us to say Except that u can always come back But remember we'll both be under attack
I don't write when I'm happy, I only write when things seem fake. I can't shake this feeling of crazy, so I take drugs to tell myself a lie for a couple of hours. Today I found out about the truth; I found out about the death of the indigenous people. I was always told about the benevolence of my ancestors. If these are the lies we tell ourselves in order to alleviate our guilt, why must we stop it there? I tell myself I'm good just to continue forward. My face is berated with the tone of my voice, and the reason is because I cannot be good. I find myself returning to the same clown of evil, with the same level of narcissism. I always see those around me in this state, so I must also be in it. I tell myself about the love others have given me, and a minute exercise of optimism appears. It is also a lie. As I sit in silence, the same state of disgust and anguish builds up around me, forcing me to look at the wrinkles in my face, and the invisible tears in m