This sadness, this undeniable madness;

it’s not some extravagant plan

I mapped out to inconvenience you.

I don’t lay awake at night perfecting
the details of how I can fuck it all up

again and again and again and again.

Believe it or not, that’s just who I am;

It’s a sick curse that’s out of my hands.

But you keep grabbing it like it’s yours

to touch. You keep analyzing it as if

maybe somehow it can be about you,

maybe you can try to hold it without

getting burned, and maybe you can

say you saved me. You never will.

Any chance of saving me is long gone,

like the ones I once called heroes;

they are buried now along with my

dreams. There are no flowers keeping

those headstones warm, same as

my heart that’s still beating so cold.

I have never been good at pretending,

but…