It’s like holding a grenade in my hand, and deciding when to pull out the pin and throw it.
Like, do I pull and throw, when I’m angry for no reason?
Do I pull and throw when I miss you?
Do I pull and throw when I’m dying for that cigarette that I’m now holding in my hand, but I know that I’ll only disappoint you?
I know I’ll only disappoint you.
I’m like a grenade, when you’re holding me. I’m like a time bomb,
Can you feel me ticking?
I'm like a time bomb with my irrationality; like a time bomb with my love; like a time bomb with my thoughts and dreams and aspirations and I’m
It’s only a matter of time.
It’s only a matter of time until I explode; until I let go, give it away and show you who I really am, what I’m really like.
Perhaps you already know.
Perhaps you already know and you like it; maybe my craziness is appealing; maybe I’m a challenge.
I wish I was a challenge, I wish I wasn’t so open, so easy, and so easy to read.
I wish I was a grenade with the pin in.
I wish a lot of things.
But I have that strange gift of knowing exactly what I am.
I am a grenade that you pulled the pin out of and you can’t remember how many seconds it’s been.
How long is it going to take until I explode, over react and fuck things up?
I am a time bomb.
So I take the grenade that is throbbing in my hand, pull out the pin and swallow it.
I’m too stubborn to let my explosion be public.
So I take that grenade, pull out the pin and shove it down my throat.
I’ll swallow it.
Keep it inside and never ever say a thing.
I’ll keep swallowing until you notice, until you realise, until you end it.
I will never say a thing.