I've had a great week
She held my hand
And my lips were
So close to hers
And I fell for her
One more time
Like I do every
Time I look at her
And every time
She says something.

I'm just waiting
To see that face again
I'm waiting to
See her cry
And to say
They are moving her
Away from me
Because we couldn't
Keep our
Hands off of
Each other.
I'm waiting for
The happiness
To end.

While quite intoxicated on another Saturday night
I saw something here never seen before
Each of us falling upon this preset line
Each of us conforming into a monotonous bore
Our minds left with nothing to explore
Personal thoughts, not one more.

As I detached myself from this wretched clique
"Wait," shouted a man, "Just one more."
I turned to see a sheep, not a thing unique
My attention he failed to keep, freedom galore
My duplicated mask fell to the floor.
A follower I was no more.

Upon breaking free, all their hatred turned to me
At first a fearful sight like a rifle's bore
Non-conformity shields me best, the mental violence never rests
The rebels you cannot best, the outcasts hold something more
We have something worth fighting for
Infinite expression our minds may pour.

She threatened him
He called her bluff
And now he's gone
It's just us again
Am I shocked?
No, because this
Always happens
After some time
With everyone
Of those men.
And I've gotten
Used to what
She does to us.

You told me that
I never gave
You any reasons
And you are right.
When you start
Giving reasons,
Someone will get
Close to you
And I can't do that
Because she always
Had to.
She gave reason
After reason
After ******* reason
And she drove
Them away.

So no,
I never give you
Reasons.
But I guess this
Is one.
Maybe you will
Never read this
And maybe
You won't give
Me the chance
To be like
My mother.

I'm starting to look like
One of those
"Is your joke still funny?"
Pictures.

I don't have anything to hide, either.
It's just that no one
Wants to ask to see what I do
On my darkest nights
And it's not that
I'd tell you no.
It's just that you never asked
To see that side of me.
And what am I to do?
I can't just pull up my sleeve
And say "here I am"
Because I wear short sleeves
And no one tends to see.
Even the ones like you,
Who know that they are there.

I imagine that your fingertips will have burnt off
By the time I try to make this better
What is the point in trying if they will never
Have the chance to singe you again but this time
With more passion than unadulterated fear?
I don't know what they feel like from hands
Other than my own
But now you have that under your belt
I'd rather be burned by the acid they let off
Than produce it of my own accord.
You exclaimed vulgarity when the acid
Made contact with your fingertips.
To whom were you fitfully angry?
Yourself who only fell in love with a girl
They constantly lingered upon?
You who stumbled upon it in
Some kind of lust and affection?
Or perhaps me?
The one who sits in bedrooms and never cries
When she produces her own form of acid.
Me, who laughs at the pain.
Who likes the color the water turns.
Who likes fresh blades.
Me, who let your fingertips touch me!
How can you be angry at yourself when
This is who I am?!

I never intended to hurt you
Acid has been pouring for a year
You're fairly new to the hatred I live
I cannot apologize enough for the idea
That I want to let more acid fall
Because I adore your lips
And I need them far too much
Please forgive me and your burnt hands
They do not mean so much harm to me
Jealousy may take them over at times.
Look at me, speaking as if I have
No control over what they do.
I do all of this to myself.

Forgive me, acid, for I want to repay
Her fingertips for your damage and
What I have done to my poor girl.
I want you to be done and finished
Gone and disposed of and never ag-

I find it funny that you think you can defeat me

I'm sorry, girlie.
My one more time will never be enough.