Cry

I felt the stinging lump in my throat seeing you,
remembrance of all I was put through.
You made me cry, but you didn't care,
you just watched as salty, hot tears traveled down,
it's unfair.

Shouldn't you fix this mess you created?
Carelessly toying with the flimsy strings of my sensitive heart.
As if it were a childhood toy, you could get a new one,
yes, a brand new one, one you couldn't easily pull apart.

Maybe you could get one with a less clouded mind,
maybe one with a finer build.
Maybe you could get one that's very kind,
maybe one that lets you do anything you'd like.

The stinging lump grows heavier,
making it harder to hold back.
The hot tears of hatred come through,
sensitivity isn't hard to crack.