The Ever Increasing Preasure to Perform As a Star

The dark is where I dwell,
the light is to much for me.
I am to much for words.

Every small aspect of light is more then I can stand.
Every bursting ray,
every false pretense,
every supposed half truth is more then I can bare.

It's in the cold stale darkness I live.
The sterile environment in which the nothing claims.

I hold onto nothing because I cannot hold onto you.
Blind, deaf and dumb.
Only fools live down here.
Absolute only in our effort to die.

I can open myself up to your influence
and
then we move close just for a moment.

Shreds of hope almost as bitter as the dull pain.
I am inspired to run and scream.
My fingers can't grip because of the cold numb.
I grasp and stumble and fall forward,
face first into this bitter grating rust.

Your lips move and I don't hear.
Half thoughts concocted into lies.
If I heard I would never believe.
If you ran to my side I would never see you.
If I felt the cold metal sliding across the flesh,
along the veins, I would only dream.

But all in dreams, all in this living slumber I look for you.
I rip my flesh open while crawling across the broken shards,
crimson puddles under my broken form.
I've embarrassed myself again.

Oh deary, I broke character again.
I forgot the mask.
The blood across my face isn't very pretty.
I forgot I was supposed to live inside a sterile lie.
Don the cheerful grin of a drugged sheep.
Oh dear, I guess this means I am alone.

I am resolute as I hold tightly to you.
Look in my eyes and know this is truth.
See past the red mess and see my soul.
Know the things you would rather ignore.
Know the truth you could never be, feel or see.
Look and see this stark naked pain you hate.
See this bastard child that makes you feel shame.
Look in you mirror and drink in your own hypocrisy,
before you hurt another child.

The dirt between us is nothing more then bare shades,
disguises we hold up so we can stand one another.
Don't forget your masks.
Don your masks.
Wear your porcelain facade so you can hide from yourself.
I wear my own selfish blood because I'm afraid of His.

If I did not,
did not run,
did not hide,
did not become
a mere shade
of the person
the disguise
that I long
for me to be,
then we might could have been.

I almost miss the sun.
I almost miss the clouds.
I almost miss hearing your words
and seeing your smile.

There was a grassy hill with a swing.
We sat there and rocked back and forth.
It was just you and I,
people walked pass and never knew our love.
But, I saw to you and you cradle me.
I miss the fresh air of your breath blowing across,
and inside of me.
The pure gift of your love.