I feel a love, that can never be. Clinging to it, just for pain. Though love finds me, I hide from the joy. Wearing the scars of my past, As if to hide from the present. Moving forward is impossible. I prefer the pain of what was, To the short joy of what is. My heart has run out of room, For any new scars. Perhaps i'm scared to let them heal. Or perhaps they are simply to deep, To ever climb back out.