You're fake. Your claws like rakes the way you pull in anyone who tries and leaves you. I tried to relieve you of the stress but you'd rather shoulder it. My best guess is you like the pain and how it rocks you, thinking it'd make you bolder but really, it makes you colder. Even when I hold her, it sends a chill down my spine. Like I'm an acrobat walking on a very thin line between love and hate.
You're fake. I try to trust and turn this pain into something great but it's like... what do I do now? Hopes and dreams down the sink. How? I can barely even think. I look at you, you make my heart skip a beat. My sun and my moon. If I won, why do I sit and hang my head in defeat? Your smile is such a treat. Your soft, sweet lips so scrumptious. Your juices delicious. You make me feel courageous, indestructible. But also meekness and vulnerable.
Maybe I'm the fake one. I don't treat you like you want, but I don't feel the want either. Do I have to profound my love on loud speakers, shaking heaven and hell, letting everyone on this plane and the next know how much I wish to caress your heart and massage your soul? Well then, I'll do whatever. Tell whomever like it's an emergency. Think a 757 landing in the Atlantic the way it's plain to see how much I need you.
My love for you isn't fake.
Take what I'm telling you as truth.
Even if I have to sing it in a booth.
Look in my eyes and you'll know it's true.
... I guess I'm just not good enough for you.
