"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it." C.S. Lewis
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Playing
I may have always been too fragile
A stone wall crumbling from the inside out
Most of my life
It served me well
As a good game to play
A nice grown up substitute
For boardgames
I made my own rules to the game...
I know when to play
To fold
To get up and run like hell
When to smile because it was
Oh
Too
Simple
Begging like a child
Maybe the years stole my intuition
Or my looks
The way that I walked away
So seemingly unaffected
Age gave me a desire for more
But everyone's still playing
And it was all fun and games until I found someone
Who was just a little better than me
He should have met me 3 years ago
And things would have been different
I swear
This isn't just about my pride
This time it's about my life
I'm tired of playing
But everyone around me is knee deep in the game
Even from a thousand miles away
He found a way to hurt me
Should have kept my arms up
And my face down
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1 comment:
"Even from a thousand miles away
He found a way to hurt me" -- sad, but well written.
ps, love the new layout!
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