I don't look like I want anything.
It looks like I've ran through life, grabbed every opportunity I could get my hands on, and gone on ahead and done it. But I haven't. The opportunities are hidden in my pockets, struggling to push away these hands jammed tight, scrunching into fists around them. You tell me, you tell me why the heck is it so hard for me to try again. You tell me how many lives have been sabotaged by it, you tell me about oceans of tears tha have been shed, the hundreds and thousands of sounds or hearts breaking all over the world.
You tell me why I live my life like I do.
Cause I'm scared.
In fact I'm terrified.
And no one in this god damn world can do any shit about it.
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