me, him...

laone: her breathe is fresh against my neck, her smell lingers on. is it so, or is it all in my head?
laone: in my head, its still real. her firm tits, her soft skin. this is all an illusion
iaone: its sad in this life, i feel like and intruder
laone: even in my own skin, i feel like a stranger
gino: does it have to rhyme
laone: nope
laone: it doesnt even have to make sense
gino: even the tears rolling down my cheeks don't wet the pillow,my laughter sounds foreign.
gino: i even question if my view is the same out this window
laone: its all strange, the trees, the ppl. even the stray cats
laone: i hate it, yet i fell...solitude
laone: feel*!
gino: this strangeness, unacquainted feeling has me adrift, looking from above into myself
laone: as if i were another and not myself. as if i were borrowed, but then. ws i ever not?
gino: i wonder if i jumped would i bounce right back, could i freeze time in this life of make belief the mirror in front of me is a master piece. it perfectly reflects my scars
laone: and the blemish power works wonderfully. ita ccentuate every one of them. they dance on teh mirror. i can even hear their voices
gino: their stories.
laone: their lies
gino: their punishments and their pain
laone: is all, allegedly for teh common gain.
laone: takin 1 for the team tehy call it
gino: for the anguish of silence, to try and forget
laone: but i dnt wanna forget. for if i forget, i may nver hav anthn quiet like this
laone: wch is all i hav