My blood-shot eyes are a painting
Of the agonizing torture I feel inside,
Each crisscrossing red lines on the white canvas
The wounds of your heart bleeding through.
I consumed too much fatigue, drunken vision,
But I persist, resist the veiling of eyes,
Because I want to suffer with you,
Because you're not the only one in anguish,
And may we found solace in one another.
So I took a step toward you, swallowed
My fear of your potential reproach,
My fear of saying the wrong things,
And endured the coldness of your silence
Only to find the real you buried beneath.
