She's a mess,
A perfectly sculpted mess,
She's at war with her own self; for a man who was her first,
And those memories were still left untouched,
Cause she's scared it will tore up into pieces—like what he did to her heart,
And she knows that it's not healthy,
So she did what everyone told her;
Moved on, buried him, threw him, kicked him out of her life.
But no honey, there are still pieces of him left,
Cause it's too hard to let go,
Not because she still loves him,
It's the memories that hold her up—and keep telling her, "we were together".
poem for you... but not really
