I hate this stupid game you play,
the I love you, I love you not game you play so often with the daisies.
I am not a flower.
But yet you insist on pulling my hair out like petals.
Down falls a chunk, I love you.
There goes another, I love you not.
You talk about being yourself and not being afraid.
So is this who you are?
Someone who has so many wants, so much to say, but never says it?
Someone who lies and answers "I don't know" to the unwanted
question?
I don't know who I am, but I know what I do, and I'm not afraid to
admit it to myself.
Unlike you, you deny it and go on like everything is perfect.
You say you wish you were like me,
dealing with all my problems by myself.
But you don't know what its like.
You will never know what its like.
Because people are attracted to you as if you were a magnet and they were
iron nails.
But I am wood, and they iron nails like to stab me.
So where do we go from here?
Do we stay and talk?
About what?
What was?
What is?
What will be?
What will never be?
Or do we say goodbye and walk away, knowing that over time each will be
forgotten.
But not the pain.
The pain will stay,
its like your heart,
always there, always beating,
but hardly ever noticed.
Yes, the pain will be there.
Thump,
thump,
thump.
Like the echoing sounds of you,
turning your back
and walking away from me.
 
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