all of your insults
and all accusations
have one little fault;
it's reckless of you
to assume
that i'm still alive,
that i haven't bled out
years and years ago.
can't you see
there's a hole
where a heart
should've been?
none of your words
can hurt me
if i'm already
dead and gone;
dead and gone,
and you don't even notice.
go ahead, cut me open,
if it makes
any difference,
just to see
what i'm made of.
but all of your insults
and all accusations
have one little fault;
it's reckless of you
to assume
that i'm still alive.