Mistakes.
That's what I make,
changing around what's at stake.
Fake.
That's what I am.
I deal smiles as a scam,
and,
I understand,
if you're not a fan.
Run.
That's what you do.
Say you'll start and then you're through,
leaving when I don't want you to.
New.
Nothing is,
and I hate this.
I miss,
the bliss,
that we once had.
It's too bad,
so sad.
I guess.
Mad.
Is how I feel.
Focusing on what's not real.
I'm still not made of steel,
and my pain I can't conceal.
Sorry I just don't appeal,
to you.
Are we through?
Sorry that I'm a fake,
and you're afraid...
but I guess we learn from our mistakes.
