I tell you I’m scared.
I want to tell you more.
I do.
I open my heart and let you see the scars.

You answer.
You answer with a reply I never saw coming.
You can’t help me.
You said that you couln’t help me when all that you have been doing
Is helping me.

What changed?
Did I do something wrong?
Told you too much?
In my cry for help did you get more scared than me and run?

I want you to help me.
I trust you more than them.
I just want to be able to talk to you.
And not regret anything I say.