You make me want to
Set fire to everything
More specifically anything
That has to do with you

You make me want to
Tear off every piece of my skin
And pull out all of my hair
Just to strangle you with it

Okay
Maybe that is
A little bit
Dramatic

But you drive me
Absolutely insane

You are a bus
That I would willingly
Throw myself in front of
Just to get your attention
Although you would most likely
Keep going
Without stopping

You are so skilled
At pretending not to notice me
Talented enough
To paint my skin invisible
The way you look right past me
Is truly an art form

I am well aware
That I am not the only girl
Who plays marionette
To your puppet master hands
But I am the only one
Who is content
With having them around
My neck

You make me want to
Sharpie all of your faults
On to your forehead
For the whole world to see

You make me want to
Stand on top of a cliff
And proclaim every single thing
That is wrong with you
For the whole world to hear

Calling you terrible,
Awful,
And cruel
Is easy

But if you were to call me
At 2 am
I would probably still give in

I would drop everything
Just to see you
For a moment

I would sacrifice my pride,
My dignity
Just to spend a night
With your body

You make me want to
Do a lot of things to you
In more ways than one

And that is exactly
What the problem is

I don't hate you
But you make me want to
You make me wish I did.

I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
desperately
but you prefer my
reality.