Lines of Red

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.