percentage.

Life's funny that way.. how it always seems to pick out one person whose been stuck with a tragic heart and continue to release the hounds upon whats left of my vital organs.. why cant you just open up to me? if you want to make this work you have to let me in.. let you love me huh? i've heard that one before.. If you can't talk to anyone else you should be able to talk to me.. how do you expect this to work if you won't just talk? I've heard that one too.. this may sound familiar because i have no doubt that more than one of you reading this have either said or heard these exact lines.. and when i open up my past revealed letting you know how others have hurt.. and why i no long wear my hear on my my short sleeve graphic tees...soak that in will you.. naw.. never because that would mean respecting me and why should you have respect for someone you claim to love.. treating me with a little more feeling.. you know whats worse.. its always you who throws those "feelings" blindly into my already burning existence of emotional turmoil.. I love you. do you now? thats because if you remember ive heard this all before, oh right you didnt keep that mental note.. why hard press something so vital.. and after each piece of me left with you each and every one of you.. i can only break my heart down into percentages.. like my very own bodily pie chart of who took what and when.. you'd think by now i'd be a little bitter.. haha you don't know the half..expected to let go.. its life.. unpredictable.. im sorry.. dont compare me.. yea well you're the same taking a little more of me than expected i shut you out because thats my only defense.. boxed up chained up lock and key surrounded by an impenetrable force, my very own sci fi force field no photon torpedo's getting through this.. always thought i was so damn tough but for some reason you.. my weakness some how got through.. i would be wrong to name those who have left with a piece of me.. unexplained just packed up and left to drift a way in the distance.. me.. left balled up like a used piece of paper to which you would've initially written that "Dear John," letter... but.. no.. I'm not that low.. yet..