I’m trapped inside this haunted mind of mine.
Everywhere I turn, you and I dance.
I still can feel how our hands intertwine.
It’s so hard to love the master of chance.
The pieces to our game of scrabble, scattered.
Broken hearted, I am, and torn inside.
If only, to you, my feelings seemed to matter.
Break all the rules you pretend to abide.
The guidelines to your game seem ever changing,
But the creator of the game is blinding.
And actions speak louder than the words you’re exchanging.
I’m done, I’m sick of all of your lying.
But forget all my words before these last,
Just come back to me, and please run back fast.
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