Pin pricked right before I write down what it is you’ve done. The ink has bled into a pact this time. This time it’s you that’s wrong. But I’m about to leave and these memories will dry. Just like the cracks in my voice this time you’ll understand why. Say something, something’s gotta give, give to this empty conversation or else it’s gonna end, end this time. Pull up a chair and pull off your persona dear, and maybe then you’ll see even the seas envy a loneliness this deep. For no more than what it’s worth, you’re worth more than you’ll ever know. For no more than what it’s worth, don’t let the silence take its toll. It’s out of my control. So please before I go.
