My heart made a promise to myself,
To gift you a love song,
But it tore no holes to whisper sweet nothings from.

My heart played dead in your grief,
When your mother passed,  
As I begged for it to strum and let the rivers gush past.

My heart sensed every blunt knife,
As you stabbed at my armour,
I cushioned it between us, but they only grew sharper.