QueenOfTheAir

It's strange. How I feel the bullet when I am not the target. I am not you. We are separate. Individual. Still, why do I share your pain as if it were my own? Funny. To think we'd ever be any more. That I pour my mind with thoughts of you when I never come in yours. Left in confusion. Swallowing myself whole. Hoping for impossibility, believing truth in lies. Speaking out promises never to be heard. Masking hollowness with whatever's left to show. Unacceptable reality In my world made of fantasy.