Projections

You are the feeling before coffee, on a dready Sunday morning
You're the silence post-concert in my ears
You're the smell after a storm
You never were this way before
I guess I only know my version of you.

We walk together hand in hand
I know you love my innocence
but you don't know I've dragged a blade across my skin.

I used to think I knew you best
but you don't sleep, live without rest
you never told me why you live of caffeine.

Because I'm a writer, see;
there's a world inside of me
I've a story there for everyone I meet.
I read the letters on your shirt
In your eyes I saw the hurt
I saw the holes scatter your jeans
you'd been tearing at the seams
And like braille, I read the scars across your skin (you never told me of the deeper ones within)

And we both made up reactions
On the stories we would tell
and we made up, for the other
Would they want heaven or hell?
We projected our perfections
on the other's damaged skin
We refused to see the darkness, haunting the other, deep within.

And now we are two damaged lovers
Walking together, hand in hand
I love the way you look asleep
and you love I'm innocent.