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Praises and adoration lie forgotten in the dregs of what used to be my treasure They shout —glorious, wonderful— but they fall to ears not only tragic but cynical as well
Praises and adiration chafe under the weight of toil and expectations for what used to be my pride They claim —impressive, delightful— but they fall to heart not only hardened but jaded as well
Praises and adoration whizz past the woes of what used to be my life They scream —exemplary, timeless— but they fall to souls not only worn and used but stiff as well
Lies and criticism only feed off the hunger of what used to be my ego They yell —worthless, rubbish— and they fall not only on an expectant mind but receptive as well of the lies and criticism disguised as praises and adoration that did nothing but shatter me —enough to tell me that I will never be enough for most
Strangely I believe lies and criticism more than I do praises and adoration
