If it was yours, you would know it, you say;
You would hold it quite close, not just throw it away.
You would treasure it always, and treasure it well -
Quintessential devotion - would not that be swell?
You insist without fail that it's not yours to hold;
That it's still mine, this purity gilded with gold.
But I know the truth, it's unshakeably clear:
You alone own my life, hold my fortune most dear.
It cries out in yearning, yet you hear it not;
Nor have you acknowledged the pain that you've wrought.
In your hands lies everything that I've ever known,
For the object that lingers where truth stands alone,
The one that wilts over a little each time
I pen yet another ridiculous rhyme
In hopes that you'll realise t'was yours from the start,
Though broken and bleeding, you've captured my heart.
