The words flow and bubble up, almost, but never quite reaching, my lips. They die along the way, picked off one by one by anxiety and paranoia, the unknowing suspicions and countless realities in which they could react so, so differently. So instead I keep them, revive the words and never let them go, lock them up in the deepest parts of my soul where no one will ever find them. I'm just another idol, just another pretty face.