Dripping in warmth, she took it back
It does not matter, does it?
A warm, plaid flannel
from someone she sent away?
It is swallowed by the threads of her thoughts
and holds spools of nights thinking about her fabricated personality
was she cut out to be a seamstress?
She could never tell, but whats the use?
She's tangled anyways

As soon as I'm close
I feel too far
I break whoever is near

It is not my fault
that they feel so attached
the boys who always want me

I am 'the one' to many
but none of them have been my one
who's fault is it really?

For now my search will stop
maybe they will stay away
it is for their own good, after all