They appeared to tell me I couldn’t leave their mind.
It’s so strange to me, but I’m too scared to confide.
That I didn’t think of them. I run too hot, too cold.
That my memory of them had already gotten old.
I wish I was sold - I’d feel better about myself.
I wish I could feel, feel better about my health.
I do often question how I run so hot, so cold.
Am I devoid of compassion or is it simple; I never was sold?
Should I have liked you more, reciprocated your reactions?
Or did you just project - or were you just my distraction?
See I worry about the state of my heart...
The pursuit of love is now a chore, not an art.
It’s not a pretty picture; it's now just a spatter.
A paintbrush smearing some bloody disaster.
Maybe I blame the beat in my chest for this chilling unrest.
Maybe I’m just cold, detached and needing to digest...
That maybe my strength is perhaps a deeper concern.
That I’m devoid of caring so I can’t feel the burn...
That I inflict on the open hearted, handing love out to me.
Did I just take it without being able to see...?
That maybe I'm callous; I had no intention to open up.
It was just a distraction, so oh shit! Now look!
Beautiful souls breaking due to my lack of conviction.
They liked me more and now somehow are the victim...
To a heartbreak, that I have only known too well.
I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, and I’m sad that you fell
For a girl who's clearly still broken, empty and cold.
A girl that doesn’t deserve your heart of gold.