I see how you are. Know how you want to be felt. You areevasive, but there's something so brilliant about this chase.
I'm not sure what exactly took place inside you, whaterupted your skull, to allow it to build this fence around thisfearsomehigh of a hill, reaching the clouds during the day, touching the stars at night.
You're soimmaculate. But to uncover all the dirt from inside that pretty little face, would only inspire me to destroy the remains and take what has transformed something so beautiful into this mundanepieceof shit that I now loath.
I don't want to destroy you, but at the same time, I want to make whatever is keeping you breathing, something that's connected to me. I don't want you to depend on what you have leaned on before, I want your face, your body next to me.
If I can feel that warmth rather than the shivers that envelope me now, I'll know then that I have found contentment. Whatever it is that's stopping you from thisindulgence, I want to stab and infect with a dirty kitchen knife.
I know I'm a different color, a hue you wouldn't dare wear on a daily basis, but if you could just try, make way for what's so vibrant andelaboratethat's inside me, I know that you'd be accepting, desiring what I have to offer you.
Even if it's just for a moment, an hour, a day, I don't care, because I know you are of worth, maybe not for me, but for someone I wouldn't mind striving to be.
But the walls are up, the conversation dead between us. I know you won't even consider thefragmentsthat could possibly bind us together.
You'resubtleand scared, I just want to consume all that's left of you, only to make whatever has dimmed, brighter within me.
Nostalgic, and cruel. I just want todemolishwhats left of you.
It's yourreflectionthat's so intriguing, the mere image of myself confined behind the glass. I can't determinewhetherit's me or you. Pristine, it just couldn't of been me. Someone like me, I'm sure.
Two against many has to be better than one, though? It allows both of us to feed off one another and to grow strong.
Yet I feeldiseased, and toxic. The purity I find in you mostlikelywouldn't be able to withstand what's been festering and imploding within me.
I tear off all the pictures from the past, everything that's been accumulated to define the shrivels of what I presume to be me, pushed off the dresser. Throwing most everything on the ground, the profound sight I envision of you standing in the doorway, head stricken with shame.
I don't care, I'm sick of trying to convey myself for someone like you, something as captivating, something that could control my contentment, my restlessness.
If I can't have you, I suppose communication with you would be moot.
I'm too frilly, tooemotional, I must be digested by something rigid and brutal.
Two delicacies can'tpossiblyafford a meal each day, have the money to be able to pay for all that makes themdesirable.
We'd crash and burn before we ever took off.
I shake off the feeling that is you, and stumble across the next moron that strikes my physical fancies and appetite.
For you, I say goodnight.