complexity

who taught us to speak in silence?
who taught us to avoid the use of words?
who taught us to leave things behind us
when all we felt was hurt?

when did we stop telling how we feel?
when it'll only make us doubt if it's real?
how are we to know what to say and do
when we never really have a single clue?
I lie, I pretend and do what I think you want
and I forget what I need and what I really want
I search for the answers by questioning my self
and it will leave me inexplicable once again
I can't find the solution to insolvable things
I can't create inconceivable miracles out of nothing
I am merely just a girl made of nothing but life
and I seem to be the only to whom I can confide
all the broken dreams which arose from dark
as they were legally breaking my easy heart
I am tired of reading everything in to nothing
and I am tired of watching all the killing
all the killing of the things that could be
exactly what we all are longing to see
I am tired of lying to make it seem real
and I am tired of defining how I feel
it should be easy to know when to cry
it should be even easier to let it die
to laugh should be so simple and plain
and every try really shouldn't be in vain
how did happiness ever become so complex?
and how did we so easily find a way into distress?