Huddled in my car on the first of the year, The blowers turned up high, My face blasted by the heat, but my body won't stop shaking. With no other sound but my heart and its quickening beat, There seems no better time, and I start to scream-- "Why won't it stop?" I look for You in everything, But I just don't see where You are. See, my arms bear the marks but my heart is the scar--Jagged, filthy, And I have no reason to feel this way, No reason to scream at the stars and their Maker. Many have faced worse than I, and their worse will stay, so why won't it stop? I could try to explain, try to teach anyone what makes me this way, But I cannot help them understand, Because, Father, I see you move, but I don't feel Your hand. Why won't it stop? Of all I've given, and I've given a lot, Why won't it stop-- The endless seeking, the internal bleeding, the hole that never really seems to close. No matter how I try to fill it, al...
And I grapple with you, monster that burns in me-- You swallow all my thoughts while breathing fire through my hips, and the smoke makes it a challenge to keep my inhale steady, Your rough hands can shut my eyes -- but I suppose fire is better in the dark, so would I really want to see? I am you, and you are me. Abiding in one body, and sharing the same dirty dreams, but damn, if you don't go and make my life harder, you tease. "take me, taste me, unleash me please," she screams. You impatient Jezebel-- with the blood red lips and half-starved kiss, 50 things I hate about you? well, I could make a list. But there's so much power in your touch, too much unbridled power-tripping lust, so I know better than to bite your tongue. I am she and she is I, but when you lift your head, I have learned to stand aside. oh monster, consider it a promise, you will have your time. when, and only when, he is fully mine.
This one is for her. This one is for the girl in the spring, staring numbly out the window as the world came back to life, wondering how many left turns it takes to make something right. This one is for every hopeful thought she shot down, and for every conviction that she beat into submission. It's for every blackout curtain she closed, desperate to keep out the light. For the latest of nights, when dawn came too soon, And it felt like bleeding out just to leave her room. She's not the one I'm proud of, she's not the one who made it easy. The long drives, the false hope, the teasing, Pouring lies like fountain soda, Spirit parched for anything of worth. Forgiving of nothing, And deserving no forgiveness, There is no crime if there's no witness.
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