No Title.

I hate when I bare myself to the back of your hand…
I feel like I give, but reception never seems enough.
I don’t know if that’s my fault, or yours.
Maybe you think I have expectations,
if so, they’re created by a past of sordid details.
You told me not to alter my thoughts;
is this what you wanted?
I’m raw for you, every day and every night.
It’s just never enough and leaves you fearful of my intentions.
Screw it, I’ll face the music one of these days…