I can only hope that what they'll come to eventually see Is me becoming more of me, And less of a shell, quiet and empty, An echo chamber of my own little hell. Please understand, I wish everyone well, But the moments I want to scream come so unexpected, It's an executed ambush that steals my lungs first so I cannot tell. So as I'm begging for breath, For just a little more space, Watching the darkness sparkle the air in front of my face, I begin to remember I wasn't always this way. Not always the causation of furrowed brows, And the subject of back door conversation, They tell me that they worry, And I suppose I would too if I heard the hush that fell in post-devastation. See, one day it left and never truly came back-- And not one song, no sermon, nor academic study ever seemed to summon it again after that. Filling the silence never worked-- Not the dark whispered tones, The empty laughter, The blaring radio every late night drive home, I t
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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