We coexist until we don't exist.

I'm hoping that you'll come around.

Maybe you'll change your mind.

But until that day, which I doubt exists.

I guess we'll stick to kind.



There's nothing I can do to change it.

At least now I know your stance.

And I can't help but think if I were born different.

Then I would have had that fighting chance.



She just wanted to protect me.

But I stayed hard headed and young.

Her warnings weren't much of a shining amour.

Cause boy, those words, they stung.



It's this illness I am plauged with.

A disorder of the skin.

A layer of ugly dirt, and rotting mold.

That keeps you from looking in.



It was stupid to think you were perfect.

But that was before I knew.

I thought that we could be together.

Yeah... that was stupid too.



Here I sit, I write these words.

Black ink upon white sheets.

If paper could talk, it'd be crying out.

Because black it stains and reeks.



If i could momentarily relapse.

And bare my heart for you to see.

Maybe youd notice all the scar tissue.

And hear as it whisphers "pick me, pick me".



It's a harsh reality.

But this is life,

And I will not stop living.