Does she know, as she strives to be the maker of somebody's life
That these cold cughing colors belong to another?
That we're breaking skin with ballpoint pins?
I am slow,
Though I'm certain that's in relation to the speed of your hand
When you shed all your skin
as a refusal to be broken in ,
did you hide under covers mistaking us as lovers?
I'm sorry friend,
But you've been broken in.
I am slow, though I'm certain our mouths are more efficient than our speedy little friends
This is why you were not right for me.