Knives for Hugs

I think about you when I walk the streets in the morning
Worrying about you and your childish need for attention
I sleep under the covers breathing your name
Wondering if we’re equally in love with each other

I sit here thinking how many cups of coffee did you drink today
Wondering if you think of me as much as I think of you

Is it selfish to ask for the same amount of love?
They say it’s impossible both glasses are full, but
I can’t help myself but look for spills on the floor

What would you do if you keep on giving, but barely
I sit here wondering who can give me just that
Who can take care of me like that?

I grouch on my way home seeing the sky turn to crystal leaves
A symbol of what was used to be in a paradise of foolishness
It was happy and fearsome to dream a lifetime with you
Now what’s left hanging is “did you ever want that too?”

I stare at my face in front of a mirror, looking at the damage you’ve done to me
I cry cold tears, knowing you barely sweat it out

It’s selfish to force a person to give you what you wanted
Pulses only beat for the wrists they belong to, not for others who voluntarily touch them
Still, I can’t help myself but feel betrayed by your uncaring ways and
your inability to reward the love I deserve

I sit here laughing at myself and tasting dirt on the ground
For the world I keep seeing isn’t built for unsharpened hearts and untainted minds
The affection I’m searching for — a knife in the hands of other people


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