I seclude myself with silence
Writing is often easier for me
Although it's still difficult for me at times to share
I can't tell you
The number of letters unsent and poems destroyed
But I am giving you this
Even with the possibility of regret
I am sorry that I am not vocal with things
I just feel like everything that comes out of my mouth
Is wrong

There is something else
I loved you
There is something else
I loved you
Fucking you
There is something else
I want you to hear
Tied up, fucking you
Tied up, fucking you