Some things are better left unsaid,
Unsure of what I did,
I hurried, ran, and from you hid,
And took a long road,
Knowing not where it lead.

I feel I'm there, without your lies,
When you took her hand, butterflies,
Then you kissed her lips and then her eyes,
I could feel my tattered heart
Breaking inside.

How could you feel the way I do
When all she wants to see is you
I see you here and then I go,
Staring blankly at my shoes.

I can't seem to find a love like yours.
I only find thistles and thorns.
The roses of paradise trampled by boars,
Without you caring, my heart is torn.

This is my postiche redemption,
An artificial avoidance of the only thing I know.
Heartbreak paints the tension of my soul,
And love is the heart's suicide goal.