Platinum Bears

I wrote love songs,
I spread myself onto pages and lay on my face.
Worlds fell from my fingers
Showing the beauty in the darkness;
I thought I had something.
Such interesting disapproval from someone I don't even know.
Is my life summed up this way?
I can taste your desperation behind your eyes
And smell the depression you try to hide.
I will utter my blasphemies.
I wrote love songs...
And I am still misinterpreted.
How is this better or worse than hiding pain?
At least I don't keep it inside.
I will write my love songs and wither away in a corner.

Because I know my place,
I just fucking HATE IT