It's OK... don't speak.
No, I don't want to talk... don't want to fight. I've wanted so much to hear your voice and hear you say my name, but having had the choice, you said nothing.
Winter days creep closer and I'm OK. I draw away.
No, don't. Its too late. Don't pick up the phone and talk about fate - I don't want to hear it. I know there's nothing to gain from a person addicted to pain, waiting for someone to hurt him again.
You're right, it isn't me. That's OK. I draw away.
Secrets, lies, deceit... you blame all on her, like a coward, while you stare at your feet and whimper. Don't you think I remember that day in November? What your friend told me, all those years ago? You haven't changed, you orchestrate/arrange the same situation, again and again. Well count me out, because I can do without your special brand of bullshit.
It must work for you, I suppose - like being whipped with a hose, but don't look at me. It's not my thing. You see, I still have Spring and handsome boys who enjoy living.
The phone in your hand - put it down. You're not the only horse in town, so save it for another day, someone else who comes your way, because I AM SOOOOOOO VERY OK as I sit here, drawing away.
submitted at 1:16am
16 April 2010
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