Donâ€™t cross that line. As you step into a mess of your own making.
You understand the consequences. But care less and less as the minute passes.
Look to you. As a source of refugee. A warm hug or hand thatâ€™s already let go.
Who are you talking to? the reflection questions. Realizing your alone.
You wrote down a name kept it hidden. Then destroyed every trace of their existence.
Being honest is the reason I canâ€™t look at you anymore.
And the reason there is no memory to the last honest real conversation we had.
Looking for me. Trying to fit in all your failed hopes and dreams.
These words were written with little distance from its inspiration.