Picking up the pieces of my broken heart.
Piecing it together like a piece of art.
A picasso or a sculpture for the tate or lourve
But now that it's been mended I'm afraid to move
Now my heart's been mended I'm afraid of love
Scared of you affection
Well sort of
I desire to be wanted just like anyone
Wanting something special not just a fling or fun
My heart is just object you admire
But my love it burns like cinders of a fire.

- BP .x.