I guess it's back to square one. I poured my heart on to these pages for you, just to have them cast aside. I scuttle with the leaves, abandoned by trees they once called home as they wait to die.      I want to know, what color are your eyes? What keeps you up at night? Everything you try to hide. What awaits me on the other side.      Confess to me all your past crimes. I'll look past yours if you can look past mine.      This dusty, old, analog heart is too afraid to call your name. This dusty, old, analog heart is too afraid to ask you in.      I guess I'm still jaded from my youth for ever thinking a girl like you would waste her time carving my name in trees. Would waste a second falling in love with me.      I don't know why I still write these songs. I knew you'd never sing along. Maybe I thought our paths were meant to cross. Maybe I thought this dead end road led straight to your heart. But I was wrong.      The only thing between me and your heart is eight layers of skin and a rib cage to rip apart. The only thing protecting me from myself is the thought that you’ll be burning with me in hell.