The show
You can see me, hear me, touch me
but I am not really here.
No-one sees behind the mask,
no-one senses that there’s fear.
You’re clinging to the wreckage,
can’t you see, its sinking too.
Its breaking into pieces,
it can never save you.
Every kiss is a kiss goodbye,
only you don’t know it yet.
And I must still remember,
though I’m wanting to forget.
Though you look into my eyes,
we are still not face to face,
and if you’re looking for my heart,
there’s just pieces in its place.
The curtain’s up again
and the player on the stage.
The audience is hushed,
as I fall under the gaze
of the people in my life
who care but cannot see
that they wouldn’t want to face
what’s on the inside of me.
And so the show goes on.
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