Addict of the Gallery

I play Russian roulette with my sleep every night Collecting more wrinkles underneath my eyes If only I could tell you how much I love The pain and the struggle I'm addicted to the sorrow Guess I turned something bad into something worse I'd rather be alone and maybe that's how this works I've gotten so used to the feeling of rejection Set myself up with these expectations God really likes to test me But the way I like to see it is More material, feeling low Taking scraps from destruction Building me up again Sculpted with melodies carved in the crevices But I stand alone Only to admire Never to touch Reach out with my hands But it never connects I'm a complicated mess that I've come to accept So go ahead and disappoint me I'll always feel isolated and lonely It's part of being a showpiece I'm addicted to the artistry I'm hanging up in a room full of silence Bleeding colors from the pain and the violence Don't I look so beautifully tragic? I'm hanging up like a dying bouquet Drying out like a half-eaten pastry Don't I look so beautifully tragic? I'm addicted to the gallery Friends and family wonder what happened to me Constantly asking me, "Do you think you're happy?" No, I'm not But I'm happy to know the worse that I feel the more that I grow Migraines and bad days Madness and caffeine I welcome you with open arms and a handful of Advil It's hard to win it all But I'll never settle for less They say to live in the present but it's too hard to digest So I live for the future And for who I'll become But I'd be lying if I said I'm not afraid of her now I think she wants to destroy me Piece by piece But man I can't wait to meet her She sounds just like poetry I'm hanging up in a room full of silence Bleeding colors from the pain and the violence Don't I look so beautifully tragic? I'm hanging up like a dying bouquet Drying out like a half-eaten pastry Don't I look so beautifully tragic? I'm addicted to the gallery Every inch of me is aching Knowing there's a space awaiting For me to fill In a gallery for bigger things I'm getting slightly claustrophobic Too big for the frame that's holding All I can be I want to roam free, the world is my gallery I'm hanging up in a room full of silence Bleeding colors from the pain and the violence Don't I look so beautifully tragic? I'm hanging up like a dying bouquet Drying out like a half-eaten pastry Don't I look so beautifully tragic? I'm addicted to the gallery