I'm tired of this.
Tired off putting out
And taking nothing in.
What happens when
You use up your fuel
And you don't top up?
You break down.
Three guesses to that metaphor.
I'm weary of this.
Is it a surprise I look resigned today?
Is it a surprise I cant be bothered
To love you right now,
When I've given most of it,
I've only got a shred left,
I'll use it when I know
It won't be wasted.
I'm sick of this.
I'm sick of being wasted,
And tasted,
Like a sample on a market stall,
With no intention of being bought,
Kept, held tight and honoured,
I'm just some Geisha,
I don't prostitute myself,
Only show what I'm worth.
I'm dying of this.
Insides and out,
Moulding into mush,
Trying so hard,
To be a something,
Not a nothing.
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