Do you have an enemy?
I don't. You're not my nemesis, but you're my Melpomene.
At some point during my morning routine (make my bed, or not today, today I'm going to Paris. Pack up my stuff, watch myself in the mirror, from the back. I am gorgeous), I realised I should've left. 'I'm not hungry anymore', and finally use those words, or even 'I have to go'. It wasn't him, it was me, it was misunderstanding, or was he? There's always room for misinterpretation when throwing yourself into the game like that. A game to death, and I decided to put myself in there. I didn't deserve that! I deserve more than that, I deserve everything, I demand love and attention, I want it all. He's not the only one, I've felt this way before, burned and survived, so why would this time be different from then? Because I'd found hope and true light...
Was it ever real anyways? Wasn't it all part of the game? I thought it was, I felt it at first sight, and even before, in the beginning of my lack of sleep story; and even before, in that naïve yet genuine tear I shed. It was, I saw it in his eyes, as I blushed; I heard it in his words of both nastiness, elephants and promises that smelled like a future in proximity; I felt it in the robot stroke against my skin, feet against feet, cheek to cheek, my hands were warm for once, in the kiss of tenderness, the only one that's real. I sensed it through his sleep.
(So I didn't, and stayed in. I don't regret it, but still I wish I...)
But there are many shades of sleep. I oughta dream more, for my body is ready and my soul is hoping.
Looked at myself today in the mirror. The image it reflected back might not be perfect, but that's what I've got, and it's beautiful. Off to Paris.
At some point during my morning routine (make my bed, or not today, today I'm going to Paris. Pack up my stuff, watch myself in the mirror, from the back. I am gorgeous), I realised I should've left. 'I'm not hungry anymore', and finally use those words, or even 'I have to go'. It wasn't him, it was me, it was misunderstanding, or was he? There's always room for misinterpretation when throwing yourself into the game like that. A game to death, and I decided to put myself in there. I didn't deserve that! I deserve more than that, I deserve everything, I demand love and attention, I want it all. He's not the only one, I've felt this way before, burned and survived, so why would this time be different from then? Because I'd found hope and true light...
Was it ever real anyways? Wasn't it all part of the game? I thought it was, I felt it at first sight, and even before, in the beginning of my lack of sleep story; and even before, in that naïve yet genuine tear I shed. It was, I saw it in his eyes, as I blushed; I heard it in his words of both nastiness, elephants and promises that smelled like a future in proximity; I felt it in the robot stroke against my skin, feet against feet, cheek to cheek, my hands were warm for once, in the kiss of tenderness, the only one that's real. I sensed it through his sleep.
(So I didn't, and stayed in. I don't regret it, but still I wish I...)
But there are many shades of sleep. I oughta dream more, for my body is ready and my soul is hoping.
Looked at myself today in the mirror. The image it reflected back might not be perfect, but that's what I've got, and it's beautiful. Off to Paris.
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