Small Hands On Thorns Never Reach The Cross Poem by Christopher's Dead

Dreams, inside,
Happier but shorter now.
Don't take a life,
Give it meaning, touch my lips
With yours tonight,
Stroke your hair, but nothing else,
Your thoughts, not mine,
Scare me more than my desicion.
So alive, these open wounds I show you,
You'll avoid like the plague,
Almost wishing that's what it'd come to.

Hasn't it been said,
That it just complicates things,
And making matters worse,
Isn't what I had in mind.
Your heart guides my hand,
But my hand'll only guide your hair
Out of your eyes so that
Maybe now you'd see me clearer.
Breaking you besides, never came into my mind,
I love you more than myself,
Why do you even think I'm here tonight.

Give it all up, I tell you
Every little thing I stand for.
You're just too involved now,
Can't let it be what it's coming to.
Taking pride in who I am,
Why can't you just understand,
You hang me by my own cross
And chain I where around my neck.