Am I getting your attention yet

Inside its toasty and still my toes are cold
They must be connected to my heart
Outside its chilly and maybe its because my hearts exposed
If every heartbeat was to stop for just a second, would mine make it snow
Shower the fields of dreams with a salty wetness to help it grow
Or the fields may have already been planted to soak up everything it gets
SHUT UP, its my turn to hurt
Its my turn to look for comfort in the arms of another warm blooded heartless American
Taking the thorn wrapped brain and devouring it with what, salt?
Engulfing the righteousness of my self worth
Entangled in a web of unforgettable feelings for who or what
I look through the crack in the mirror and realize, its my hearts reflection