Secrets. Whispers. Mazes. Enigmas. The truth doesn’t get handed to anybody on a silver platter. Most of the time, it’s because it doesn’t even matter.
“Oh no, I hope that post isn’t about me!”
and what are you going to do if it is?
bitch, I was born on the Ides of March — literally, I’m not just saying that to create a false bond with someone I can use like a stepping stone. you think I have to play nice with you? with anyone?
here’s the upside to being nobody: nobody gives a shit about what I say, so I can spit the truth out like blood. I hope it fucking burns you.
You think I’ll marry anything less than a prince?
Everything is, everything was, everything is all, everything will be.
Brittle little smile, pretty petrol eyes
We keep our shadows locked up here inside
Try not to offend or to disappoint them
Write them letters you will never send
Don’t show that you’re hurt
You won’t be the first to hide the bruises there under your shirt
Oh, and your secret’s safe with me, so admit your complicity
And write them words that they will never read
Oh, they stay in shadows, all the heartbreakers
Oh, they stay in shadows, all the troublemakers —
It’s always the quiet ones.
It’s always the quiet ones.