Wednesday, April 4, 2012


Honesty itself is like a thief of heart
it sought our soul
if I never told
you would have never known why I ran
I find it hard to breathe
every second you watch me
the only thing I want to do is flee
Thought if I figure out the mess you've made
I'd leave
the mistakes that you've made
those memories erased
I think that's the beauty of grace
It exists in silence yet demands to be heard


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