Do I dare letting you inside of me?
What would you want to really see?
I’m not all gushy, peaches and cream,
I’m hanging on to nothing, ready to scream.
Inside of me, my blood runs cold,
Perhaps it’s my age, I’m getting old.
Yesterday is gone, tomorrow looks sour,
All that is left, is this very hour.
I’m confused by love, passion, and fate.
As the poet says, Quiet desperation is my fate.
Getting my act together so I can hurry up and wait.
If you want into my thoughts, my heart or my head,
Do I dare let you see the real me, or wait until I’m dead?