People go to you to ask advice, to get help with their
problems.. and theirs are always so easy.. but your own?
never... never can your own be like that. And people don't
even know you have your own, because you hide them so well
that you don't even realize it yourself except when they hurt..
Shadows and illusions, illusions and shadows.. all that
exists is darkness, all that exists is magic. Nothing is real.
Love? Is there such a thing? I feel it, I hear it, I taste
it, I smell it, I see it..
But only because I feel it tearing my soul, I hear my own
silent screams, I taste blood where I bite my lip to keep
from crying, I smell the cold fear of losing it, and I see
through the mist of tears unshed.
I can't feel love in my arms. I can only sometimes hear it
whispered in my ear. I can't taste it on skin or lips, I
can't smell it in someone's hair, I can't see it when I open
my eyes in the morning..