Drip, drip, drip.
As my skin starts to rip.
The past seems to fade
with a two-sided blade.
A thin, sharp metal aid
for the mistakes I’ve made.
Was once glad we met,
now dying of regret.
Two things flow
As I think of us both.
Tears from my eyes
and blood from each glide.
Drip, drip, drip.
the next sad song I skip.
Every ballad I hear,
just adds another tear.
How can I move on?
How can I forget?
I’m having a relapse
and recovery isn’t close yet.
I won't ask you,
‘cause I know what is true.
“I love you” is what you’d say,
and “Sorry, but not in that way.”