Incarcerated in my bedroom,
I'm staring at the ceiling...
Wishing you were dying and paying for what I'm feeling.
The wind rustles at my window,
it blows away a tear.
Things might be getting better if I'd put away my fear.
A box of matches sits beside me.
I hate your stupid game...
if your heart were made of paper,
I'd set it all a flame.
I'd let it singe to ashes.
Then I'd kick it to the wall.
I'd ask you almost nicely if you'll miss my love at all.
If your heart were made of paper,
I would laugh and watch it burn.
I would never put the fire out.
Not until you learn...
©
M