I am a cliché.
At the end of the day,
The same, I stay.
I am a colourless rainbow,
Always sitting underneath that weeping willow,
I was fine long ago, until she found her Romeo.
I am cold.
You say it’s my heart you hold,
It’s long gone, you have yet to be told.
I am mean.
It started when I was thirteen;
When I went from human, to controlled machine.
I am without feelings.
What is the point of healing?
My emotions are what I’m concealing.
I am dead.
Too many things left unsaid.