At times, it gets hard for her to imagine why you've decided to be this way. Living in half-truths and broken stories that only shine a light on the things that favor you. You've become a victim of the people that surround you in the crowd and refuse to acknowledge it. The person you decided to require you live behind a mask. Perfectly tailored to their desires and expectations. Others can only wonder if you remember what it's like to see without the rose-colored glasses.
She wonders if there is a way to end the questioning. Not for you, but for her. Because she's gotten tired of wondering who you are. Or if you were really close at all. Because if you weren't, who's really the victim? Or did you think you had committed a victimless crime? She's sure that you'd both like to think that to become reality and truth. But you know all too well that you still can't speak it into existence.
Sometimes you can't remember how you got to this place. So much so that sometimes you forget who you are. But you never try to fix the damage that you've caused. Because in your mind, anything is better than who you were before. No one would know that this is what you wanted. The chance to belong. To prove people wrong. Change wasn't the goal but the unexpected outcome to the reality of the hellish nightmares that you continue to live.
The nightmare has become a car, a tool to send you flying off the edge. At any moment to cause a scene where you remain in control. Maybe it's the power trip that you're high on. But we all know that you've lost control. You promise that things are okay. In the midst of the chaos, you ignore the fact that things are in flames around you. It was even you who started this fire.
When things go your way, the fire rages on. It swallows another person whole, leaving them wondering what it is that caused them to deserve to be forever licked by the flames of the pain that you are in. The smoke looks like a cry for help. But you still refuse the water.
When you feel the heat of your flames, act like the victim. Cry out in pain and cry wolf. Just like the boy, you refuse to take seriously the panic and pain you cause when you shout falsely. But we can no longer believe you.
When you stand at the end of the stage, the tabernacle where you've left it all for people to see, it's clear to see that this place where we've once called home is now gone. Next to you, they feel lonely, invisible, insignificant. But you insist that you are still important. Overshadowing our relationship so much that their place no longer includes you.
It's easy to pick you out of the crowds. Not because of your uniqueness, but because of the way that you fit into the mold. Phone out at the ready and same look that reminds me of the person we are told we should want to become. The one that so many have given up lives for.
You decide to leave early, without warning or notice. And she can't help but wonder if it's something she's said. Things are ending now. Not in the way that we thought they would, but because of the walls we've decided to put up. She can still remember who we were before. And if she listens closely, she might hear you begging for help to escape the place you're in, but the bridge is too damaged to cross. She's not sure if she can even save you. When you fall, your hand slips through my fingers and she doesn't feel bad about it at all.
Do you even want someone to save you? Or should we wait for the flames to consume you too?
