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If seeing is believing, and believing means being,
then who sees in perfect hindsight while the brights are beaming. seeing might be seeming to be a little blinding for a moment to the one still teeming with thoughts that this feeling might be worth believing.
If a feeling is from memories revealing all the past, it reveals that happiness can't last. The heartache of losing control too fast is nothing but overwhelming with pain too vast. Vast like the ocean at night in a storm, the whole crew is dead, soaking to the bone, you've forgotten the feeling "warm".
Warm like the pain that I feel inside, like a thousand suns, ready to burn me alive. I try to hide behind a mask that will provide the protection to keep my soul from being fried. Although my emotions will always be denied, I have a feeling you see through me, all facades aside.
And if seeing is believing and believing means being, then who sees in perfect hindsight while the brights are beaming, I'm screaming because feeling is harder than breathing, and being me just doesn't provide the protection I'm needing, so I'm running from this haunting memory that keeps creeping up on me like a nightmare that keeps repeating and it's neverending.
Keep going on not dealing with the pain, hoping that one day, it'll all just go away. Is life worth living at the price I've had to pay, where's that song they keep singing about some blessed happy day? When will there be someone who can just stand up and say the truth is that someday, we'll all just fade away.
And if seeing is believing, and believing means being, then who sees in perfect hindsight while the brights are beaming. seeing might be seeming to be a little blinding for a moment to the one still teeming with thoughts that this feeling might be worth believing.
