I loved you so much I would died for you.
I have a feeling you would've jump out of the way from protecting me
even if saving me would have produce a mere scratch on you.
I'd bleed for you.
I'd let the knife sink into my skin;
I'd donate every drop of my blood to you if you needed.
In a way, I already died for you.
I changed myself in so many ways to become the flower you'd pick in a field.
I promised to come harmless,
never expose my thorns,
bite my tongue,
hide my insecurities in my bud,
never fully open up so I could be loved forever;
if i never bloomed I could never die.
I've became so much of what you love.
And you just tell me you don't want to.
I made so much of me for you.
How is anyone else supposed to fall in love with that?