Trace a finger over lines,
Etched in exposed skin,
Open up the door inside,
Let the pain flood in,

You can't even meet my eyes,
Happiness is fake,
I should know this road by now,
Shouldn't make the same mistake,

Words of advice I do declare,
But do I myself take heed?
Can our aspirations face reality?
Will it submitt us to need?

And as I pull my sleeve down,
I hope someone might just see,
Past the nochalant exterior,
And somehow set us free,

I'm sorry to have invited you,
To this desolate side,
There's nowhere to run from here,
I guess that we both lied,

A dual emotion overtakes,
And slides into our heads,
Over exposed skin I trace,
The etched in lines of red.