Outlines

And it’s been 1, 2 years now But I still falter when I hear your name

And I’m left with a bitter taste in my mouth

because I can’t find anyone else to blame.

No, I won’t write you a song

No, I won’t speak of you again.

No, I won’t paint you into my past

I won’t paint you a portrait of that relentless pain.

And if all that stood between us, was a sickness of my mind

then I wouldn’t be here on my own,

tracing my fingers over our outlines.

And it’s easy to pretend to know myself

speaking in riddles and morals and mantras.

Handing them out like I’m enlightened.

But all I see is our outlines

and those lines are jarred now

Outlines of a story left unwritten

in the shallows of my mind.

And I’m here, still,

yeah, I’m here, still.

Still avoiding feeling, really feeling

Because what is there, yeah, what is there?

when there’s nothing to face but myself?

And all that’s left are photographs and punching bags and bitterness

and love entwined

and all that’s left are our outlines.

And I take 1, 2 steps forward

but it’s hard to conquer an anxious mind

So I’m here again, tracing my fingers over outlines

Measuring myself against a picture of a stranger,

And I can’t find a reason to hate her.

But I do.

yeah, I do.

Tracing my fingers over her outline,

filled with thoughts and love and dreams and pain

Just like mine.

And all that’s left are photographs and punching bags and bitterness

and love entwined.

And all that’s left are our outlines.