She sits, waits, alone, but surrounded by the mundane.
Just waiting to claim what it is about her that makes her not the same.
Always unsure, unaware, confused and bare.
Always looking for something more, always scared.
Always looking for something more, always scared.
Scared of not amounting to what she was built to be.
Scared of not fulfilling some unknown destiny.
Scared of not fulfilling some unknown destiny.
She watches life pass her by.
She runs away from what she sees as lies.
She runs away from what she sees as lies.
Not aware of truth anymore, muddled by deceit.
What was it in the past that knocked her off her feet?
What was it in the past that knocked her off her feet?
She once saw truth in love, truth in the change.
But now her head is twisted, everything’s been rearranged.
But now her head is twisted, everything’s been rearranged.
She seeks refuge in her ink and pen
It seems the only thing on which she can depend
It seems the only thing on which she can depend
She once thought she could dissolve into the masses
But trying to fit in only enhances
But trying to fit in only enhances
What now, what to do
What to try, what to ensue
What to try, what to ensue
She walks unaccompanied, she tried to abide
But the disconnection is evolving into something too difficult to hide
But the disconnection is evolving into something too difficult to hide
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