Addict of the Gallery - Faith Marie

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 colours from the pain and the violence

Don’t I look so beautiful… ly tragic?

I’m hanging up like a dying bouquet

Drying out like a half-eaten pastry

Don’t I look so beautiful… ly tragic?

I’m addicted to the gallery

I’m an addict I’m an addict of 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 colours from the pain and the violence

Don’t I look so beautiful… ly tragic?

I’m hanging up like a dying bouquet

Drying out like a half-eaten pastry

Don’t I look so beautiful… ly tragic?

I’m addicted to the gallery

I’m an addict I’m an addict of 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 colours from the pain and the violence

Don’t I look so beautiful… ly tragic?

I’m hanging up like a dying bouquet

Drying out like a half-eaten pastry

Don’t I look so beautiful… ly tragic?

I’m addicted to the gallery

I’m an addict I’m an addict of the gallery