( Picture Halloween 2008- My girls and I )Funny how life works...
I blog because I have no one to talk to..
I am experiencing this pain.. I can't get awayfrom it. It haunts me like a bad dreamPoor a glass of wine.. it heals the pain..a minute..
How did I become so unimportant..Bryce wake up from this torture, Blossom into what you can and could be,I am not her, I never will be..
Emptiness.. with a broken smile,As I walk away tears roll down my face,A leaf tumbling down the street, Hit by a car, not knowing the peace that may bring,
Love hurts, why do we do this to ourselves?Why do we break down that wall over and over again..So that those people can play with us, So they can feel the comfort of something realHow can they do that... how can they live.. Altered.. a mind state.. that continues to fade
Beauty.. it has nothing to do with beauty..Lust has everything to do with beauty,But Love ? No it has nothing to do with the outsideIt is about the mind, actions, a friend.
I am the small bottle on the top shelfThe one that never gets picked the one that occasionally gets picked by someone that has no intention of making me the rich drink that I could be.
Instead I become that shot.. that shot for the moment.. The convient place to hide from the cold..To feel the chill and warm thier soul.
Shelter.. what is that? Home? No...
I am but a blanket that is used once a year on that night that they actually have nothing better... The dust on the top, that never gets touched,
Happiness.. you make that.. Not themHow? Don't ask me I am still trying,Trying....You say that.. but really there is a pair of beautiful eyes staring atyou while you try... but not for me; Her...
I will never be her.. I will never be that special, I am Bryce.. That small bottle on the shelf..the one that was dropped last night..
I blog because I have no one to talk to..
I am experiencing this pain.. I can't get awayfrom it. It haunts me like a bad dreamPoor a glass of wine.. it heals the pain..a minute..
How did I become so unimportant..Bryce wake up from this torture, Blossom into what you can and could be,I am not her, I never will be..
Emptiness.. with a broken smile,As I walk away tears roll down my face,A leaf tumbling down the street, Hit by a car, not knowing the peace that may bring,
Love hurts, why do we do this to ourselves?Why do we break down that wall over and over again..So that those people can play with us, So they can feel the comfort of something realHow can they do that... how can they live.. Altered.. a mind state.. that continues to fade
Beauty.. it has nothing to do with beauty..Lust has everything to do with beauty,But Love ? No it has nothing to do with the outsideIt is about the mind, actions, a friend.
I am the small bottle on the top shelfThe one that never gets picked the one that occasionally gets picked by someone that has no intention of making me the rich drink that I could be.
Instead I become that shot.. that shot for the moment.. The convient place to hide from the cold..To feel the chill and warm thier soul.
Shelter.. what is that? Home? No...
I am but a blanket that is used once a year on that night that they actually have nothing better... The dust on the top, that never gets touched,
Happiness.. you make that.. Not themHow? Don't ask me I am still trying,Trying....You say that.. but really there is a pair of beautiful eyes staring atyou while you try... but not for me; Her...
I will never be her.. I will never be that special, I am Bryce.. That small bottle on the shelf..the one that was dropped last night..
