Why does it seem like every moment I spend thinking is wasted on you?

Even when I know my mind is filled with so much more and it can't be true.

Sometimes I see your face in my dreams, haunted and pained.

Then I hold you in my arms and looks just the same.

Is my mind creating fiction
to feed my addiction
to the satisfying attention
I feel in our tension?

Or is the pain from your lies that you try to play down
causing your face to set in an almost permanent frown?

Stop making me out to be this impregnable foe.

I melt when I'm with you, but you freeze as if I'm ice cold.

You wouldn't ever listen to me pour my soul even if I tried,
You wouldn't even care if I were to lie down and die.