There are more faces in here than I can count.
One for each one of them; also for my sanity.
Speaking of putting aside of childish things, I
Cannot surrender these that make me whole.
It becomes harder as the years pass though.
The personas wither and peel away, exposing
Raw flesh, raw mind, raw face, raw heart, and
I can't do this for much longer, too priceless.
In a crowded room where I can barely breathe
There is none in this picture frame but myself.
Grows tired, tired of the face, tired of a name.
To bleed out in tears, words, none love them.
Letters are born, fall short, shatter, dissipate.
Each takes a sliver of what is mine, of my soul
And soon, the sands will run dry, nothing left.
Would seem for sooner rather than later, here.
I can hear the ticking, measuring the seconds
And I know its too long until this will be done.
I wasn't built to stand against these trials, too.
It is all too heavy, and I can't turn a blind eye.
All I hold, or try at least, slips like falling sand.
Makes for difficult footing in the quick of it all.
I can't stand to stand by as it all fades away.
I have few choices for it, they've made sure.
What of mine then, when it boils down to it?
It is silly to want when none would deliver it.
Too many strings, too many holes to identify.
Too much to wade into to find what I needed.
It all loses value because I have none to give.
All I try to give; takes back from me in threes.
They wouldn't see to care to begin with, and I
Become a fool over and over when I even try.