Do you even read the words I write you,
when I try to make you see
the feelings that grow deep inside of me?
You want me to be happier,
to be more involved in the word
that continues to turn around me,
even though I feel like a statue.
I am sorry that I can't give you
enough of the smiling faces you desire,
but I had love to give you,
and I thought that you could trust that.
I need to move on and let things go -
I know, because you told me at least
a thousand times and more.
You made your love just another danger to avoid.
I'm sorry that simply having you
was good enough for me,
but having me half happy,
was never good enough for you.
Perhaps next time
you want to save a heart,
you will look inside
before you realise too late
that you could never love
the broken mess that lives inside.
