I pretend so much that I’m okay with what you give me.
So afraid to muster up the words that I need more.
I am cast out in the desert of love unrequited thirsty for some sign of affection or desire
I want to be wanted, and this need it out weights the neglect and pain that it lays upon my chest
When you look me in the eyes do you not see the tears stained by hours of pain and shame?
You tell me I’m beautiful but yet your touch and words they speak of trash and unworthiness
I should go
I should run and find myself
Fear of not being loved it cripples me and tells me to stay in your wretched embrace to be surrounded by your nothingness
What does your cool touch translate to if not love?
I want more, but I’m afraid that this is my worth