If I offered you my hand today, would you solemnly take it?
And would you notice the scars upon my wrist
In which you yourself had some relation to it?
Would you help me scratch away at the pain on my arm?
Or is it you yourself that I find harm?
How can that be when my heart desires you yet these tears fall upon my
cheeks?
And there you stand wiping away at the dreadful streaks.
If I asked you to read what is written in my mind, what would you say?
Would you see the short-lived moments of grace and beauty?
And the moments I spent sorrowing all day?
Why does it hurt to look in your eyes yet I strive to be with you?
To let you blow in my ear again and do those things you’d do?
The rules of the game don’t regulate with my heart.
And because of this, I destruct myself, part by part.

 
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