I lied when I said I was alright.

This isn’t love, it’s emotional attachment:
waiting for something that will never happen.

I’m here, and maybe it doesn’t really matter.
It’s a long line, and she won’t even bother.

And maybe I’ve got to stop being there,
because she doesn’t even really care.

This crumb of a feeling, caving in:
it’s a one-sided bleak love I’m in.

But this isn’t love, it’s a waste of time,
not that invention they called sublime.

And obviously, this isn’t working out,
seems I’m another she can live without.

This ain’t the stuff that they said of.
It’s the bogus elusiveness that is love.

She moves to push people farther away,
but I can’t seem to leave her anyway.

It’s a punch in the gut, a prime time shock-wave.
Maybe I’m the superman that needs to be saved.

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