There's really nothing to be proud of between bad sense and circumstances and how we fumble the two (separating the truth) before we run out of light to move
There are nights where I die only to shoot back to life granting the voice in my head and how it always ends up right
I'll speak clearly so you wont misunderstand me you're not understanding as church bells sing and fall back asleep I cry wolf and you're always
So take a snapshot or portrait framed for the world to see it would show the rift between you and me hidden from your way of life things that cant be caught with the plain eye it would shine light on the truth that we're both dead and alive at the same time
I've come to terms with how we lose so effortlessly on the path that haunts my reality diving from tragedy to tragedy