you don't make it right

crushed by conformity, and on the edge about to lose all self control. These people can't be real, but they can see into your soul.
Just once I'd like to say that you were a good person.
But I can't push myself to lie.
And she can't push herself away from the monster you are. It's a trainwreck you can't stop looking at. It makes you wonder, it makes you think.
You make me think, "what did I do wrong?"

they aren't your friends.
they aren't your foes.
They don't care who you are.
Where you've been
or where you're going.

It's all a big sham.
They've got you. they've got your money.
St. Valentine has got your money.
He's got your soul.
He's got your heart.
And he's not giving it back for the world.
Because you won't give me mine.

When they ask you what it means do you say, "It wasn't me, Shakespeare did it!"
Oh please, like he would even look at you in the eye,
like the words through Bernard Shaw's mouth would mean a thing to your meaningless brain full of lard and inadequate proportions.
It's just not the same when the doors says out but you just want to step inside. You just want to go in and let yourself warm up from this crisp winter.
Laugh away sir, but you'll never know if you won't let me tell you.
you must be terrified of the answer.
It's not so difficult once you lets the words slip out.
into the open.
I wish you never left.
I wish we could still sit on that bench together, in the dark, in the late night. and when I know I should go home I just keep trying to pry into your thoughts. I just keep going further into you. you make me so curious, and the summer nights never got better when you're by my side.
Call me crazy but you're the only boy I ever considered thoughtful.
Although you did nearly nothing, your words meant so much.

Okay, they are coming for you.
I'd tell you I love you but I just wouldn't mean it.
I'll never mean it.

not until you spraypaint your thoughts onto that empty canvas.
Just like I told you to.
and even when you refuse I push.

Come on, just do it. No one will ever know. It's practically morning.

I miss April.
and springing into you.