You are a part of me,
I am a part of you.
Even though what you now hate about me
is what you used to love,
when my cold, armored skin
was a figment you’d want me to perform.
How’d that sound like me?
How could that ever please you?
A riddle echoing for years,
in a room where it always turns out to be true,
you are still a part of me,
am I still a part of you?