Freefall.

Shit.
I swore up and down that I really wouldn't do this again,
But here I am, up late at night,
Writing you poetry
That you'll make me read you later.
I think you might have found out how
Honest I get,
Even though I'm still trying to hide behind
Metaphors and anecdotal prose.
Well,
Go Fuck yourself.
You're pretty,
But go Fuck yourself.
I'm still trying to figure out how you did it.
You keep me on the phone for hours,
Talking to me about everything under the sun.
And I'm pretty sure the fact that I hang on many, if not all of your words, gives me away.
I'm trying to behave myself,
But somehow I know you can see right through me
And let's be honest here,
It scares the fuck out of both of us.
You, reformed bad boy,
Devil may care attitude
Me, sweet on the outside,
Hellfire on the inside
And we're pretending.
We're playing the waiting game because we made a promise.
I'm not saying we shouldn't,
Because we definitely should
What I'm saying is I wonder
If you wrote a song about me.
If you wake up in the middle of the night and think about
What it would be like to wake up next to me.
I wonder
If you think about holding my hand
Or if you think about what it would be like
To know you had all of me.
I sat and thought about the fact that you might go.
And you don't want to hurt anyone
And you really care about how I feel.
But I wondered,
If that happens,
Would I be upset because you had to go,
Or would I be upset that I never gave you these parts of me?
I'm still not quite sure how to answer that question.
Because I'm starting to get the feeling I don't get to have a say.
We can change the subject or I can stumble over my words but the truth is..
The truth is...
I'm starting to feel my feet slip
And I know the ledge is right behind me.