Wednesday, 29 May 2013

This is not about a man.

Every word you say to me
Is like a pin-prick on my skin
Every comment that you make
I feel the ink sinking in.

The promises, the empty threats
The deals you can't fulfill
I bite and kick
And cry and scream
But I'll never get my fill.

Borderline Stockholm Syndrome
I'm addicted to your lies
I love the way you burn things up
You infiltrate my eyes.

You want me to be just like her
That girl you'll never win
Puppet Master extraordinaire
Free from mortal sin.

I'll always be below you
I'm not one of them
This complex copulation
Cut off at the stem.

Blindly do what you tell me
I know that you know best
You import your wisdom onto me
I do not need the rest.

I'm aching from conformity
An ache that fills a hole.

Could I ever freely live alone?
Is that a palpable goal?

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