foreclosure

My heart is caught between the crosshairs of desire and nonchalance. Everywhere I go I see birds chirping, rainbows splashed across the sky, enamored smiles and giggles, and I hear orchestras proclaiming the love around me. But I'm just an observer in this realm, all I am is a spectator, an invader, someone who doesn't make sense here.
I bleed truth, compassion and forgiveness and still clean up after myself. I consider myself one of those "damn good" catches, but it just hasn't caught on yet.
It alludes me whether or not it's a good thing, or a mood thing or a lewd thing, but I just can't figure it out. I'm caught between "yes" and "no" and nowhere else to go. My heart isn't rash; I can't make decisions in a flash. I take time to consider my options and I just haven't had time yet, I'm sorry, come again later and your answer might be ready by then.
I'm admittedly hot and cold simultaneously, I'm annoyed and overjoyed all at the same time and it's confusing. I understand that I make no sense but it's how I've become accustomed to living. Ambiguity and responsibility are my scapegoats from sin and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
All I need are things I'll never get, things I fence off into a district I prohibit myself from visiting, an anamoly I don't even allow myself to throw spare change at. And it's this self-inflicted torture that keeps my wounds fresh, the fingers that pry off the scabs and the consequent bandages until regret is a hole in my flesh. But like a schizophrenic I can't hold myself back, I can't contain my madness. All I can do is take my heart by its fragile hands and show it the rusted "for sale" sign on this internal garden of sadness..