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I appear to live in a fish bowl, I bare all my problems and my empty soul. Anyone willing to hear my hopes and fears, and my willingness to be sincere. I gather my thoughts and wishes, but break as easily as china dishes. Very few really know me, others cannot see. I won't let them in, unless they are not afraid to sin. How can I believe there's a better life, one where I have no pain nor strife. It's hard to grasp a new way of living, I never get, even though I am giving. Do I have a chance at love, oh, that's one thing I can only dream of. As long as I'm here, all my dreams get turned into fear. Afraid to move forward and