When I'm with you [Another Song Of Misery]

I like my humour, eyes and style.

I love my nails, weight and smile.

I adore my hair, my body and my mind.

But when I'm with you, 

there's no happiness to find.

 

 

It's nothing you do in particular,

yet something I can sense from afar.

It's a skill-issue of mine

that I swim in self-pity and lose my shine.

 

 

Basically just another song of misery,

that I let my self drown in my own injury.

I guess it's just not supposed to heal,

and it will continue to eat me up,

as if I was their favourite meal.

 

 

Because I tend to forget that it's my own problem,

and my own bad.

And not her fault, that I'm so fucking sad.