Unwritten.

When will the past make room for the future, and when will I smile in the face of you? This hate just keeps us spinning. I've given you control, but now we're out of time, and all I need is the embrace of a hundred dreams. They say the truth could set us free, but you are blind, and you refuse to see that I'm still here, and I can't leave. The voices tell me every word you dictate to their pen. Etchings in the fabric of this living room furniture, and I relive every moment. Your eyes are staring back at me, and I feel the pain. A searing yesterday chains me to a wall of loathing. My fingertips are raw and bleeding from clawing at a door called May. Her eyes are sweet and dripping boiling sugar down her cheeks. Sour acid teases the back of my tongue in response to your existence, but still, I'd drop the dagger for those two words.