Does she know, as she strives to be the maker of somebody's lifenThat these cold cughing colors belong to another?nThat we're breaking skin with ballpoint pins?nI am slow,nThough I'm certain that's in relation to the speed of your handnWhen you shed all your skin nas a refusal to be broken in ,ndid you hide under covers mistaking us as lovers?nI'm sorry friend, nBut you've been broken in. nI am slow, though I'm certain our mouths are more efficient than our speedy little friendsnThis is why you were not right for me. nnAnd here the daylight goes...