The Makings Of A Bitter Old Lady


I'm falling and I don't know where I'll land.

Do I look okay to you? I hope I do, because that's what I want you to think so you won't constantly ask me why I am sad.

There's a constant ache in me that I rub salt on every time I think about the kind of person you've become. You're no longer morally upright, and I can't help but attach a face to you and wonder why. Your words don't mean squat now that you can so easily turn around and say "the others are doing it."

There's a constant wound in me that I tear open every time I smile at you or give you a kiss.

At the ruins of what was once a stronghold, the tears come far more easily than they used to. But not in front of you, never in front of you.

What would become of me if I were to show more of my vulnerability to you?

Leaving seems inevitable, at this rate. I don't know how long I can keep up this front, this smiling, everything-is-ok front and watch you be taken away.

Yes, it feels like you're being taken away from me. This is why I'm feeling more and more alone as the days pass, even though you're right next to me. You're simply not there anymore.

I can't bring myself to trust your words anymore.