PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

the game

Tuesday, Nov. 12, 2002

The Game

I�ll read your words and
Respond with lies
Tell you how great you are
Fill you head with helium highs
Then you can list me
And I will think you're my friend
Surely you are telling me the truth
When your opinion is also pretend
I�ll gush about perfection
Then when I list your name
You can blush at my adoration
And return the favor in same
My profile will burst wide open
With names far and wide
I�ll pretend I am important
Even though I�m the same inside
Lets play the game
Called diaryland
You might not like what I say
You might not understand
But I don�t like cheaters and infidelity sucks
I am not perfect
Some of the things I have done are fucked
But if you sleep with a married man
I�m going to tell you you�re wrong
As nicely as I can
You can tell me my faults
I�ll take them in stride
But fuck this pretend game
I�m here to find myself
Not to learn how to smile and hide

If I�ve ever said something nice to you about your diary, I meant it. If I tell you what I think it is the truth, not fluff for the sake of this fucked up game I see everyone playing. Oh you�re so kewl..you�re so fine�you fuck married men, oh but �nevermind.

everything's so blurry, and everyone's so fake..
so make up your own ending and lemme know just how u feel..
-Puddle of Mudd
12:22 p.m. ::
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