You call me a Solipsist.
I know you’re just trying to elicit a response.
But my mind is elsewhere.
And there’s that familiar feeling
which sits, idle, behind my eyes.
Old chords permeate the once still air.
“Tell me am I, am I… wasting my time
with you. Let me know”
Stale fingertips. Rusted lips.
The colour peels off your painted smile
and, oops… I think your humanity is showing.
“But every time I try, try to forget… who you really are
I can’t seem to find, find the warmth, in your cold heart
tell me if I’m… ooohhh”