My body is wet, and slick
writhing from pain somewhere within
and still there is a smile on my face,
for every grimace for every single sin.
I don't mean to be this way,
it's a coping mechanism, long been taught
and i live this daily battle,
til my mind is subconscious and overwrought.
I mean to love you,
and i'm sorry if it's just too much,
that it begins with some words,
and it begs for my sublime touch.
For i am superbly subliminal consciously,
with every note i speak,
and i cannot help that i love you,
for my heart is tough but weak.
And the crowds are laughing,
the cupboard is lacking and bare,
and i sit here and sigh,
whilst you sit with them and stare.
Wait for me to fall for you,
then beg me to stay,
tell i am beautiful, enlightening, precocious and rare,
and then take it away.
I can hear my heart pushing at the black of the sweat,
and i am partially here nor there,
and i am partially yours whether you want me,
under the weight of your succinct stare.
But your victory over me
is not through the love for me that you wish,
it is rather through your rejection,
best served cold, in a hand for a dish.
Nevermind my worries, nor my cares,
I know i am of no consequence nor thought,
of everything in your daily life,
but trouble i seem to have brought.
My dear, my darling, my love, my quarry,
I seek nothing but silence with you,
for i know at least your words,
once uttered, is a missile projected from you.
I am sweat and hard work,
I am scary, new and everything you fear,
but your rejection, though rough,
is what i expected, my dear.
There is nothing i can expect,
you will not allow yourself to become tainted by me,
and my devils they call to my aide,
to show you the wrong side of being free.
You are not willing through self righteous fear
of being covered in the dirt of my love and care,
and when you are not looking,
i am always really, just here, and there.
To want is to suffer,
of this i know which is to be true,
i was sent you in a lesson to learn,
and i was meant to learn from, about, and in you.
I have a wet, slick, black wanton spirit,
there is no innocence in my blue eyes,
for everything i love within myself,
is equally something there to despise.
There is no crowd now,
there is abrupt silence in the dried up air,
intake of acrid, wanton, holy breath,
to see if you really do truly care.
And this aint no love song,
there are no guitar rifts or longing in the chorus of a singular word,
i merely cannot understand you, to love you
and my flight is as free as a bird.
I am wet, and slick, from lack of sleep,
there is something of you inside my head
and every night i wish i was dreaming,
but i think of you instead.
My love,
my quarrel,
my fear,
my future.
Never have dis-pleasured someone so much,
with a singular, single, millimetre of tingle of a touch.