Inconsistency

What I say is beautiful. What I do is empty. What I feel doesn't matter. I seem to dwell in the shadows of others, I've grown comfortable in the darkness. The light of standing on my own will blind me...

A faded sense of clothing, a faded sense of living. All pieces of the puzzle, that make my life, have become dull, with time. The brightest co;ours of their time have lost vibrance and merely became grey, with the rest.

My promises, full of life, lose their purpose, as I lose mine. My promises have become empty, and every time my word is broken, I die on the inside. I should be laying dead, with all the words, that I so fluenty spoke.