You are not the horse,
On which I laid my cash,
And this is not the stage
Where my stars can burn and crash.
You are not the safety net,
To fall from my high wire,
And this is not the circus,
To inspire my desire.
I'm a chipping vase,
And you cannot touch my scars,
I stare into space hoping for retrieval,
Screaming hopelessly at the stars.
I'll help you untangle your own private warfare,
And I'll clean away the mess,
But the thought of being in your arms,
Is a repulsive idea I need to address.
You are not the harmless thorn,
To heal me from the pain,
And I am but wilting,
We're no longer the same.
