There's a hole in the middle,
where my heart should be.
Cos I gave it to someone,
who broke it for me.
And now it's in pieces,
and I can't get it back,
but I'm not sure I'd want it,
cos glue can't hide the cracks.
It's not really their fault,
it's in two parts,
they didn't ask me to love them,
or for me to offer my heart.
But it isn't mine either,
I certainly didn't plan to,
but I can't get away from,
this fact I now rue.
A bitter pill swallowed,
a lesson of life learned,
other peoples warnings seemed hollow,
now, I've got myself burned.
I could not have prevented,
and don't want to erase,
and next time I love someone,
it'll will be in all the same ways.
Loves not for being mean with,
or apportioning out,
you can't spend your life,
holding on to it, that's not what it's about.
Whether returned, or ignored,
love given is never misused,
there's just one thing that's guaranteed,
sometimes, it's miscued.
