Underneath
Another love of mine died a slow death, Yet another day passed midst the hoodlum. Underneath the forever happy charms, a kid still strangling with shackles. Heartfelt no more, a bit heartbroken maybe, This is what we are, You are, I am. Killing me ounce by ounce to think thousand times before saying a word even. What are we ? Really. Dead men, counting our days of reaching above or below. Binary of living or dead proving forged, We can die just being not alive, enough. But who'll set the bar ? Some other women, men or god ? Of how should we breathe ? Or die ? Of how should we love or even cry ? Even with the dissolution of being free, we're chained. If I don't wake up the next dawn, thinking about my dead'ol love, She's happier now, and am just done. Done with this world, of not streaming our hearts out. Are we even alive ? Are we not dead ? But if I do, I'll be called freedom, Of being what we are, with boundless liberties With al