I used to say I wore my heart on my sleeve,
I wanted it tattooed on my left arm, permanent and in-erasable.
I said it out loud, and to myself.
Who was I kidding?
It's hidden and held.
He cries himself to sleep, he grieves for my reply,
I know he needs help, it's beating gives him away every time.
I don't think he's depressed, I reckon he's scared.
And how could he not be?
We cruise this mad world.
He's scared of the dark, from life and from death.
He's a paradox I know, by his arrhythmia I tell.
Dogs freak him out, he's scared of their bite
Those teeth can't be trusted, they carve like a knife
He's scared of the love he's never experienced,
how could someone love him all wounded and delirious?
Planes are far from his favourites, also anything contagious,
pilots and doctors all shiver his cages.
He's the king of disguise,
sheltered behind humour,
sometimes he genuinely doesn't care,
others he cries upon a rumour.
People think he's crazy, I do myself,
he's treated as obsessive, old soul and ******.
His cuirass seems tough and unbreakable,
but really he's shy and mistakable.
He has the appearance of mean and despiteful,
he won't give in to show himself vulnerable and frightful.
He trusts no one,
he lets no one in.
His problems are his,
someone interfering would be a sin.
I'm sorry dear heart, I know it's my fault.
I've damaged and wrecked you,
with flaws and toxic loves.
Now you seem lost, you're head looking down,
please don't give up, it's not over now.
I can't promise I'll fix you, but yes I will try,
at the end no one saves you,
you're alone to die.
I know I apologize too much, but, sorry dear heart.
