For years and years you kept it alive, kept the connection and the contempt in my heart, because you had given me a home when all I had was a scar.
But as time goes by I can see the master plan, I see the scheming and pretending and everything makes sense now.
I see who you are and who you are not, I know what you feel and what you do to hide that too. There is just one thing I don't see, one thing I still can't comprehend.
Why did you feel the need to do such thing? Did it feel good, did it feel nice? Was it amusing to hear us sing and see the look in our eyes?
Tears down our faces and things you could never understand, in the end we're far more real than you expected us to be.
You've changed my life and I can't deny that, but I hate the fact that it wasn't as special for you as it was for me. The memories I've come to treasure the most mean nothing to you, mean the world to me.
How do I keep going with all this hate inside of me? With this anger, this fear and this disappointment of having wasted so much time and energy in something that was conceived as meaningless and mundane?
I should have known better, I should have given up. All the signs were there and I just refused to hear and kept on singing, blind. Blinded by the lights and that sense of unity you seemed to spread around.
Sometimes I think it was all me, looking for meaning in words that were flat, desperately trying to get something to hold on to. But it wasn't in my mind, I didn't imagine it. It was you, the craftsmen of suffering and despair, breaking illusions and hearts, because that's how you go about.
The hours that I've spent worshiping false gods I cannot ask back for. All can I do is hope I will never fall again in the irrelevant claws of commercial maneuvers, aimed at brainwashed dolls looking for a shag and some self-assurance.
Mademoiselle Juliettè
The winter of our discontent.
No hay comentarios.:
Publicar un comentario