CUT OUT

Would it be better just to cut you out,
become a ghost and never speak to you again?
Would it be better just to cut you out?
I don’t know if I am strong enough to go back to being friends.

You’re like a splinter in my thumb,
far too deep to rip out now.
Over time, I'm told, it’ll work its way on out.
But I keep picking. I keep wishing for this feeling to go away.
Then, I look down at my hand, and you’re still there.

But when you’re gone, will I miss the pain?
Will I wish it would come back, or will I be in a better place?

Would it be better just to cut you out,
become a ghost and never speak to you again?
Would it be better just to cut you out?
I don’t know if I am strong enough to go back to being friends.

You’re like a tattoo on my mind,
one that I’ve come to regret.
I wish I could erase your face and just forget
that I was smitten. I’ve been bitten and have fallen head over heels
for a man who cannot feel the way I wish that he could feel.

But if you did, would I miss the pain?
Am I a masochist, or am I slowly finding my own way?

Would it be better just to cut you out,
become a ghost and never speak to you again?
Would it be better just to cut you out?
I don’t know if I am strong enough to go back to being friends.

You’re like a splinter in my thumb,
a thorn right through my side.
You are the salt and the wound.
You are an itch that won't subside.

You’re always nipping at my heels,
you’re like an engine light aflame.
You are the ringing in my ears,
a constant memory of the pain.

You’re like a never ending siren.
You are famine and you are feast.
You’re the monster underneath my bed,
a mosquito on a leash.

A bad penny always turning up,
I will never shake you loose.
I’m a ticking bomb when you’re around.
You’re the match, and I’m your fuse.

You’re like a tattoo on my mind,
you are the one that I can’t have.
Every time I think I’m healing,
you’ll find me picking at the scab.