confused.

Oh, here I go again,

With my hand throbbing for a pen.

Yet when the ink starts flowing free,

Will you take the blindfold off your heart,

And maybe, possibly see?

Oh, just see that I lie in wait in front of you.

Are my attempts so obvious you just see right through?

But there’s something about the night

That makes me think what I’m feeling is real.

Like the secret smile escaping your lips

And the five aces that you deal.

And I uncross my bare legs,

And walk across the floor.

But I’m fixated on the blue flicker

The TV screen projects on the door.

And there’s something about the night

That makes me feel everything but right.

Oh, our violet lies aren’t getting any younger,

So won’t you blow out that candle light?

But messages in bottles, and the clothes that we shed on the floor,

Are as useless as words when our hearts are at war.

So when that flickering flame is close to being dead,

Stop that reverie and remember what I said:

“When all I am to you is a piece torn out of a photograph,

Forget about our bodies touching, and don’t you ever dare look back.”

Please don’t ever look back.