This Wasn't My Idea

This blanket of snow provides the perfect metaphor
For my empty bed of a heart
Leave me alone on this shallow frame
I'm unforgiving and twice as forgettable
I remember being happy
A faint echo of a faded memory
So I'll just dive into the darkest moments
I live for you to watch my every move
And breathe in my every exhalation
What am I without observation?
Just a tree falling in a forest without anybody to hear
Who knows if it makes sound?
Who cares?
I am nothing without my audience
So as the nights grow thin
And the days grow passionate
I grow incomplete
So thank you for your mocking acceptance
And forgiving glances
I will hold them dear.