I can't find peace anywhere, not even in you. 

I am constantly on edge. I don't know how to make myself okay anymore.

It's like I see things, happy things, brilliant things, and all I see is the pain that people will feel when it's over. The things that make life worth living are woven with death. 

I'm trying to hold onto my virtues but it's like grasping at smoke. 

I'm supposed to know you like the back of my hand but you politely decline.