I'm sitting here like an idiot: Obsessing over the status of a human low life.
All I can think of is how much time doesn't heal some pain that's cut way too deep.
So it makes me to stop and wonder; have I changed at all?
I'm sitting here holding back tears. To this day, your name can still make me stutter, and your image can make me fearful. Your voice can still be mimicked and I can still play the same lost girl.
So when its all said and done..
When i've spent countless hours telling doctors, friends, lovers between sheets your story. What good has it done to "express the pain". If it still shingles me just as much?
It just feels like false hope.
and the last little bit has gone down the gutter.
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