The scars from our backs
the city, it sparkles from decadent dreams
built by the dreamers, tearing at the seams.
and if we’re all falling,
I missed it all, darling.
I had my eyes shut from the start.
sometimes i hear it calling,
the whispers, so enthralling.
it feels like I’ve been shot through the heart.
i suppose in some ways, we match,
my heart’s a concrete jungle too,
and when we step onto the sidewalk
the rain paints us both blue.
but the other day, from a massive crack
a white rose emerged,
waving in the wind, a quiet surrender,
like a yellow wood diverged.
my god, it came from a shadow, and it lit up like the sun.
Promising a warmer world, for the night was almost done.
So maybe thats how we heal,
chasing the pain until it feels real.
a harrowing feeling of being grown up.
trapped by the thoughts that I feel,
growing roses from the deal
of the very thorns that tore us up.
So how about we pretend we’re not so cold,
and widen the endless cracks?
so that someday, the roses may grow,
from the deepest scars in our backs.
and maybe then we won’t feel so empty,
or hollow in our most vivid dreams.
may the roses block the dizzying city lights
to show everything is not as it seems.