You’re a tangled web of thorny vines, but your fruit is always
tempting me to harvest. I’ve been slaughtered time and time again,
been cleaned and dressed, still I’m nothing but a carcass. You say you
know what you don’t want, and you’re convinced until it isn’t yours to
take, and all the time that you have taken me for granted, I was
waiting at the airport gate for a plane that never landed.

You’re calling me so late at night and I’m awoken by the rattle, I put
on my riot gear, the vest, the mask, the shield, prepare myself for
battle. I say I know what I want, I’m convinced but maybe it’s because
it isn’t mine to take, and all the time I’ve waited was for nothing,
you were testing me, digesting me, I should’ve known it when I felt
your serrated edge start cutting.

I’m finding more and more, the heart is not a candy apple red, as it’s
commonly depicted. I’m not a scientist but it’d probably be more
accurate to show it as mix of blue and brown, despite your Hallmark expectations
so I’m suggesting:

That we’ve got our ways, we both need help, and if you can’t heart me,
go heart yourself.