Sometimes quiet is violent
I find it hard to hide it
My pride is no longer inside
It's on my sleeve
My skin will scream
Reminding me of
Who I killed inside my dream
I hate this car that I'm driving
There's no hiding for me
I'm forced to deal with what I feel
There is no distraction to mask what is real
I could pull the steering wheel

Thoughts are distracting.
Haunting, even.
If I wear my heart on my sleeve, my pride follows it, too, because it doesn't have a mind of its own.
But sometimes I mind it.
It's hard to hide my thoughts.
They're as clear as day,
They're as clear as stars at night, on the countryside.
But sometimes everything is too clear.
The pain and agony of my bed head wakes me, and my skin burns, not with desire, but with the fire that leaves a trail of reminders to never forget.
Sometimes I try to combust, and just burst into an array of color and light like a star.
I think it would be so much easier.
But I can't.
I'm forced to face life straight on, with my thoughts as my armor, my shield, and my opponents sword.