You want me to be like the writers.

I loved you, I’m tired.

Lost some inspiration, but found you in fire.
 

What’s with you?

In spite of it all, you still show these flaws.

I lost sleep, discarding all of my peace.

Did you wanna grow, all alone?

Would that help you pick up the phone?

And break down that wall?

Know you’re not there when I fall, but see you’re aware of it all.

Can we discuss this withdrawal?

You’re really not there or involved.

Probably missed the fare and my calls.

You really kept me spared from a love.

Still you got my dreams in your palms.

The way you’re acting is like a bail without bond.

Almost like a failure to launch.

And we failed without cause, unless you wanna speak up?

Could you build trust?

Or just some other inconsistency?

Your misery, grew sick of my ability to make you feel at home, this just reeks of all our history.