My love for you is like a new box of tissues,
You keep using more, pulling one more out,
It seems as if there is an infinite amount,
Never running out.

You don’t even think about.

You use one more tissue,
Just a little more love whenever you need me.
But you don’t realize I’m not a what,
Realize WHO you are using.

Just use another, two at a time.
Discarding with ease.
One more,
Two more,
You can’t possibly run out.
Soiling it,
Crumpling it,
Then throwing me out.

But one day you’ll pull the last tissue,
Leaving nothing but an empty box.

Then what will you do?

I am not just a box of tissues.
My love WILL run out.
If you keep on using me,
Throwing my love away.
*I will leave you.