There's a point
at which
it became too important
to know the contents of your heart

I had neither the key
nor the right
to enter that locked room

Still I pryed, hoping
that sometime
you'd let me inside

I shouldn't really
have cared
and then everything
would have been fine and dandy

But the fact I did
made me crazier
than not knowing itself

Who knew that caring
would be
so debilitating and cruel?

I've constructed
another box
keeping me inside
away from what I can't have anyway