I don't know about my connections.
They're transient, maybe?
Energy put in is pulled, not given,
and the eye contact,
the ******* eye contact.
My irises give away too much.
Holding my gaze is too deep,
almost like sharing
those secrets I keep.
Deserving?
Hardly.
Pretentious? I am, definitely,
hell, even I hate me sometimes.
Cut the lines,
sever the ties,
I never cared much for them anyway.