It's 12:03am on a Tuesday morning
And all I can think about
Is what it would be like,
If I were Marilyn Monroe,
And you were JFK.
If we were closeted lovers,
Or one-time pleasure seekers.
If you were a *******;
If I were a *** symbol.
If we could be anything more than
Friends.
Acquaintances.
Strangers...
It's 12:07am and you're probably sleeping,
Arms wrapped around your Jackie O.
And I know I keep saying
I don't need you,
But this ceiling fan is ****** company,
And ****, do I want you.

He was, the first man I was with since my divorce.  The man who opened me up to a whole new world. Where is discovered a part of me I didn't know existed.
He stood me in front of the mirror as he undressed me.
His eyes never leaving mine.
Kissing every inch of my body, felt like it was my first time.
Sighs of pleasure being released as he took his time exploring my naked body with his hands and lips.
I turn around and look into his eyes and whisper "take me"

Everybody thinks she's full of life
When she's struggling to keep herself sane deep inside

I feel nothing when I press my lips against yours or with the last ten guys before.
There are no butterflies or skipped heartbeats, just me slipping quietly out of tangled sheets. Every emotion I've expressed is a lie, even those pathetically faked *** sighs.
How can you be so blind to my emptiness inside?
Perhaps I hide my detachment too well, I'm slightly sociopathic can't you tell?
It disgusts me how I feel absolutely nothing, but I can't force myself to feel anything.
So I'll crawl back in bed and cuddle up, wondering when you'll realize I'm a total **** up.
Apparently not tonight, as I rest my head on your chest and squeeze you tight.

No, I'll still let you believe in a world without empty people like me, who are twisted enough to feign the emotion of love.