He thinks I’m interesting and have so many secrets hidden behind me eyes, but I don’t. I wish I did.
He knows I’ve got a story, and thinks I’m dying to share it with him, but I never ever will.
Why does he bother playing games with my head, when he knows that my mind is too fucked to even care?
He thinks he understands me, but there’s nothing to understand.
1 comment
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
and
one mans trash (your self opinion) is another mans treasure (his opinion) 🙂 Good Luck