I'm giving you my life one week at a time. You want the whole thing? You want it right now? You're pushing me over that edge. It's that forced smile. It's you choking down any meaning. Am I just like you? Am I just like you? I am, as long as I can't find the need to feel alive that's supposed to burn inside. I guess it has escaped me again. It suffocated and died. This constant complaining proved to be pointless in the end; that came as no surprise. Such futile attempts at feigned sincerity, these lies have filled this room with the awkward smiles and disappointed eyes that were all trying desperately to hide.