A polite bow around your finger

Tying me in knots, twisting me in knots,

Put me in a polite bow around your index finger,

As if I were something you desired to remember;

Desired not to forget.

I'm so worn down, so worn down;

You never fail to wear me out,

Draped across your shoulders unnecessarily,

You wore me out.

Outside, inside, side-by-side, you were never really there.

I reach out to only feel the cold air on my fingertips,

This is the coldest night by far.

My lips are like ice without yours against them;

Press them against mine once more, would you?

I want to feel your flames; I want to see your passion burn;

I want to feel alive again.

There is nothing left of you for me to try to forget,

My memories have faded like an old photograph,

Photographs of you and I together sit useless in a box,

Waiting for their need, waiting for your return�"

Or maybe that's just me.