I havnt known the real me in quite some time. And the tragic thing about that is people actually trust that they know me. How can they if i cant even recognize myself anymore? And the harder i try to look for my spirit, the faster it escapes. And the longer i wait for it to return, the more certain I've become that it never will.
They've always told us to follow our dreams, discover our passions.
They only forgot to mention every passion, every dream, every little fantasy has an experation date.
And they leave US to clean up the mess. And all the while they still have the audacity to ask why were sad. Why our eyes brim with tears of disappointment. Why we lie awake at night broken. They do not care. They do not know. We are not survivors we just exists. we have stopped moving forward leaving behind only an empty shell with shattered hopes. So no you do not know me for i have died.
You know the ghost of a girl, who couldn't cope with the life she was handed. A girl that was captured by grief.
