Wasted far beyond the annals i can write,
I'm here, a sulking bat, full of love's misery,
On the verge, of saying "goodbye" to that lonely crag,
I come, for the first time, closed for inventory.

What's with the me in me? I ask again, don't complain,
Bother me now please, with some unending refrains,
I need to know, why love always says sorry to me,
I'm opening up, so I'm closed for inventory.

I did shut the door for words that could have inspired,
But that was then, forgive me, I just fired Mr. Pride,
I would listen to anything, please don't let me be,
I am here, a listener, closed for inventory.

I gave up a new found love, It is me who is at fault,
My heart, I didn't guard, now my lover I can't hold,
An old flame spoke, and from her I couldn't set free,
So I am here the doubting Thomas, closed for inventory.

Closed for inventory, tell me what's with the me in me,
No one ever wanted, to be chained by hearts' enmity,
Am I too bad at loving? Am I not suited for love's ecstasy?
Am I holding on to love, the way we ought should be?


Closed for inventory...


Please...

Help

Me.