Crash and burn

White walls whisper softly. You tell me how to feel, what to think.
You ask me questions, and when I don't answer, you spit the answers back at me.

Poor bird, never learned to fly. Poor rabid wolf, never learned not to bite.

You thought I was a glass window, transparent and shining. But you only saw a reflection of yourself - I am really a mirror with a thousand cracks and broken pieces. You asked what kind of window polish I wanted, when you should have asked if I needed any more glue, so I wouldn't have to hold it together with my blood. 

I am not a book to be read. You cannot just crack my spine open and read my heart on the pages. It doesn't work that way.

I am not your kind of music. I am not anyone's. My song is not one of sweet melodys and harmonies. It is a tune that will make your ears bleed, of ugly chords and unbalanced keys.

The higher you climb, the harder you fall.
I've begun to fear happiness because i'm scared of the crash that comes afterwards. Like not drinking because you don't want to deal with the hangover. I'd rather stay grey [with a splash of red to offset it].

^Showers are wonderful things, they wash the blood away nice and neat. It's quite fantastic. ^

You should have asked again.