Calmly sweeping my eyes over you
And begging you to see.
But we've got your favorite movie
Playing on the old tv.
We're both worn out.
I know you're tired.
Right now I'm trying to make you feel
Like your hard work has been admired.
So I tell you, "Sit down,
I've got it."
And you smile and relax
And ask if I'm sure.
And I nodded.
As we lie there together,
I just want your eyes on me.
So I whine,
"I just want your attention."
Ever so desperately.
Because I love when you see the good in me,
I need to be good to see it.
So I'll treat you like a king and give you everything that you have ever needed.
And I love when the things I do,
Make you in awe by me.
Because I'm just a girl
And you're just a boy.
But together that makes us
"We."

I'm tired of all the melodrama;
The misery in me.
The dreadful adoration
Of the blood I like to see.
I can say all I want
That I simply crave happiness;
That all I need is love.
But there's that toxic part of me,
With the dark side it is dreaming of.
The dark side of the fantasy.
The way it likes to feel
A little broken;
Down and out.
Some subconscious *** appeal.
For one split second I love the fact
That you hurt me till I cried.
That sick sliver of myself,
That has never, ever died.
The infatuation with misery.
The martyrdom within.
I am sick and twisted, I am
Caressing Horror's skin.
I'm ****** her and beating her,
And loving the sounds she makes.
I'm no child.
There is no god.
And I am just a fake.

As I do propose that in my critical subconscious you have shattered the lines finely composed within the fabrics of my skin and bones. However, in the sense of making friends, I had you by the hand foreshadowed at a time when even your heart was not wholly vacant. Further from that point in the timeline, 17 years since my birth, you had triggered your curiosity; your finger horrendously excited to see where it could lead us as a twosome. Our mutual friend had made a false reality of his sense of he and I which distracted you from the critical point of your infatuation. You contemplated upon the idea that I had been made an allusion and that you did not, in fact, have proof to hypothesize about which character had been true to mine. Consequently, you acted upon this realization and, without regret, went forth to present yourself and your adoration of and to myself. I cannot express to the true extent of my gratefulness to the simple perception that you had been able to form your own opinion and use your own ideas to postulate your decision on who I could be. I'm miserably infatuated with you upon the series of events sequential to this occurrence. Do not stray, for I have let you in and have minimal intention of letting you back out within an admirable amount of time.