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.



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