In the arms of Another

I really don’t wanna be in the arms of another. But, you see, he holds me, he touches me, he gives me what you don’t. So even if I don’t feel him, at least I feel myself. You care for me - you say. But your way of caring kills softly, drains my life drop by drop, keeping me in the distance, like a mannequin for display, while you touch others you don’t love. So, in order to feel alive, with the last threads of breath I’ve got, I let myself drift into the arms of another.