She was so tragic. Her eyes contained hurt and sadness. In her mind was madness. And her wrists contained a war. And her heart was always cold. If you held her long enough she would tell you to let go. Because she doesn't know love. She doesn't want it. All she can think about is the tragedy of it.
She only thought about it hurting when she had to let you go. She only thinks about heart breaks and cold nights. She think she's better of not knowing what love feels like. She never let's anyone to close. And sometimes I think she is breaking her own heart.