I am not ready just yet
to write the story
of the boy who's heart I broke.

Slowly, we fade away
into something dim,
but shimmering -
a galaxy of hope,
a black hole of fear -
darkness or light,
it is all the same,
without you
here.

I think my problem with us
was that I could never
write about
you.

And, now that it is long over,
I still cannot bring myself
to spill
it.

But, I hope you understand,
that you deserve my words,
the good
ones.

When he kisses me
all I see
is your face,
and all I feel
is
lonely.

If you want to give me something
for Christmas,
then give me back
my heart.

You don't need it
anymore.

And I've missed it.

Oh no, I choked.
"What are you proud of?" she asked.
It all hung on that one moment,
And I said no words that made sense, just
Sweaty palms and an anxious voice
speaking
much
too
quickly
about something I'm not even proud of.
Not at all.

Turn away.
You don't need to see.
Her head is in the toilet,
There's puke on her knee.
Times are hard.
She only saw one conclusion.
She can't think clearly,
Because there's too much confusion.

Turn away.
You don't need to hear.
Her voice is cracking,
You can sense the fear.
There's not much hope.
She's giving up.
She doesn't see the point in wishing,
Because she's never had luck.

Turn away.
You don't need to know.
The truth hurts, babe.
She tries not to let it show.
But it's just an act,
Everyone can tell.
As soon  as she took that brave face off,
She fell.

Look at me.
Don't be scared.
She might not be fine,
But at least she'll know you cared.
Open your eyes,
She doesn't want to see you hurt.
Pay attention, stand up straight,
Look at her now,
The spell is starting to
b r e a k .