Your heart has barely come out of recovery,
The wounds still fresh.
The cut still raw.
And yet you hand it to some new flirt,
Not realizing (or caring) about the damage that may be done.
If you could see past beauty and false personalities,
I'm standing here.
"I won't hurt you." I whisper out.
But you don't hear me.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
Your heart has barely come out of recovery,
The wounds still fresh.
The cut still raw.
And yet you hand it to some new flirt,
Not realizing (or caring) about the damage that may be done.
If you could see past beauty and false personalities,
I'm standing here.
"I won't hurt you." I whisper out.
But you don't hear me.