It's the truth, you see me as a marshmallow puff, a lollipop vixen. For all my darts and daggers and standing straight, you only see the bending in the board. You see the faltering, the negative, the fluff coming out of my ears.
You talk in a big voice and jut out your chin,
you manly speciman of man,
you goddamn king, you god,
you mother-fucking lifesaver.
Let me worship, let me stand alone and take your insults,
and a humble gesture, a motif to silently compliment
your every spoil of war.
For all the years I spent catering to your wanton sadism, your fleeting darkness, your melancholy eyes, cloaking what I only imagined to be a deeper hurt -
But no. It was a deeper vanity, an obsession with your image, your own beautiful pitiful spoiled boy...
...your inner baby...
You savored the sight of your own fist as it smashed through the air, the moisture glistening in every corner of the room like tears!
Tears you would never shed-
Eyes don't sparkle
when they're blotchy and red
and boys don't cry
not if they're vampires
Give me back
the ends of the earth
you trampled.
You snake charmer,
you half wit
in disguise of genius,
you fall in pieces,
you fall to shame.
(*Disclaimer - no, it's not about Blake. You can breathe again!)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment