why do we let ourselves see what isn't there?
how can one be so desperate to fool themselves
how can a heart be so stubborn to mend after each crack
just for the hope of next time

he said he loved me
and all the letters were bold
they were so nice, so wishful
how could something so magical be sinister

how does a body let itself be held by somebody
one who used it many times before
but it still trembles at every touch, still gives it all in every breath
for the chance of tomorrow

he said he would never leave
the words the little girl inside wanted to hear
so desperate, so starved and eager
it was never true but it must mean something atleast now

how does an eye still look the same at him
when it ran out of tears a million times
when it had to work all night over again
but maybe different eyes will look back

how does it scream from anger then from fear
how does it shake from rage then worry
how does it go around, always, like clockwork
and why does it not let go