I wonder if I write from
the bottom of my heart,
that you'll take a deeper interest
in what I say.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
All I do is make you mad, sad, mad, sad; gone.
My hands tremble, I cry in bed and I feel, once again, a indescribable aching pain
inside and out of my chest.
You'd think I'd have a tolerance for pain.
Just laying there, punishing myself as if you can see it from 400 miles away. As if you can hear my gorilla-glued mouth speaking all the words my 1st place race championship mind hasn't spoken.
I am delusional and it is always too late to see. Always a fool after the fact.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Is it enough for you?