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I wish nothing more than to quit this game of pretend
I want to go back to being me, and forget whatever happened
I play pretend
Like a little girl who plays dress up.
I play pretend
To be an innocent little girl again
I play pretend
To make everyone happy
To make everyone leave me alone
I forgot who I am.
Am I really this nice of a person who gets walked over excessivly?
Then why do I have another part to me, screaming to be let go of.
To be let out...
Why is it whenever I let that half of me out even the slightest
People jump the gun and make me out to be a monster?
I am scared of that other half
I'm completely sure what she's like
I know that it is almost nothing like the other my other half
Why can't I be all of me?
I'm so tired of pretending.
I smile so much, my face hurts.
I smile so much I want to cry
I hate to smile.
False smiles, False laughs, and lies
That's how I play pretend.
"I swear I'm okay."
That's an empty promise.
I hate pretending
It kills me every day.
It makes me forget the other half inside
That claws and screams to get out.
It makes me forget the pain
Which only comes back later
Intensified, stronger, and more violent.
I'm tired of putting up with false friends
Who do nothing but accuse me
And point out my mistakes
Yell at me, and want to change me
Wanting to bend and break me
I'm tired of pretending
Of being so malluble just to make other people happy
But what about me, huh?
When will Samantha get her day to be happy?
When will Samantha get to be herself?
When can she stop playing pretend?
IF she can even stop playing pretend.
I'm tired of these false friends
With their invisible unknown strings set into my back.
I'm tired of puppet masters for friends
People are so stupid
They are so blind and trusting
They can never tell when I say a lie.
"I'm okay."
"No, it's fine, trust me."
I'm tired of making everyone else happy, except myself.
Why should I rely on people anyway?
They only dissapoint me in the end.
Love dissapointed me
Love betrayed me
Friendship stabbed me in the back
and they both lied to me.
What have I left?
Nothing really.
Music for one thing
My mind for another
But really, what have I left?
Nothing.
I'm tired of pretending...
I wish that I could stop...
But I've become so accustomed to it...
That it's become like a drug I can't quit.
Not to make me happy...
But everyone else around me happy.
And me all the more miserable.
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