ββββ ΰ¨ΰ§ ββββ
They hand me lines Iβve never known,
Say, βYouβll grow up, you wonβt be alone,β
Like loveβs a train I have to chase,
A finish line, a saving grace.
So I perform. I laugh on cue,
Wear painted smiles like people do,
A mask so tight it leaves a mark,
A spotlight stitched into the dark.
They ask me who I dream about,
Like silence is a thing to doubt,
As if a heart must burn and break
For it to count, for me to ache.
But maybe I am not the stage,
Not missing scenes or βcoming age,β
Just something honest, quiet, strange,
A sky unmoved by weatherβs change.
ββββ ΰ¨ΰ§ ββββ