I could trace a smile,
On the foggy pane;
But it'd only get erased,
By the torrents of rain. 

I could utter a laugh,
To push away fear;
But it'd get swallowed up,
As the dark draws near. 

I could stand up straight,
When things don't go my way;
But it's almost like the little good left,
Would go away. 

This world's quite cruel,
Has no heart;
Why can't it make us closer
Instead of far apart?

Imperfect as it is,
I can't say,
That I'd rather have it 
Any other way. 

Because it is my home,
Even if my home is bare
Of joy or happiness,
There's still something there. 

As humans we all
Cling to whatever we can,
And that something is just enough
To hold in my hand.

Doesn't mean it doesn't sting,
Or that the thorns don't hurt;
I just watch my hand bleed,
Convince myself it could be worse. 

Funny how we love things
We really ought hate;
People, places, 
But it's never too late. 

To detach, to leave,
To choose for yourself;
Instead of following the feelings 
Of someone else. 

You don't have to conform,
But... I see why you do...
If you rebelled the entire world 
Would hate you. 

So I could close eyes,
Shut it all out;
But ignoring what's there,
Isn't what life's about.