This year
My goal isn’t to find love
This year
Love will have to find me

Walk with me under the dead trees
Tell me secrets that are lies
Let the shadows tattoo my skin
Look me in the eye as tears run a marathon down your face
Unlock the doors to your heart and mind
and  
**let me in

And at night
I break down
Creating a thousand miniature oceans

I don’t let people in
I am my own therapist
No one gets to see the inside of this emotional carcass

My secrets are guarded
By seemingly logical thoughts
They can’t escape through my sewn together lips
Even if I would want them to

I am my own therapist
I don’t let people in
*ever

Why did you start becoming interesting the moment you stopped being interested?