Misconceptions of Me.
The delicate form of my temple are never as fragile nor weak,
The smile that features in my eyes,
do not reveal the misery my soul’s torn from.
I push away the things I’ve wanted,
and cry for the emptiness in my chest.
I become an old soul,
but transform into a newborn persona, who’s only stubborn and foolish.
The words slip away from my lips,
while my thoughts confine themselves in my mind.
By day, I’m content.
By night, I’m lost.