Perhaps I was born to self-destruct,
In loving what I cannot have,
For falling in love with a bittersweet dream.
A dream only half received.
You skipped over love and gave me hate instead.
The thought of you brings up a conversation,
That I am not yet ready to share.
No matter how hard I try,
I still find your presence etched onto my soul.
The memories of you still send shivers down my spine,
And the thought of your touch still wakes me up in hot sweats.
Your the cork still stuck in my throat,
Or the words and memories still too buried,
Unable to claw its way back up.