Jan 2013
I think there’s something you need to understand, I’m not half the man, you want me to, be. I am but burning embers; that is all that is left, of a time that was blessed with love, life and forever afters. I watch you lie whilst you are asleep, never have I seen anything so sweet as just to see you quiet and at peace. And when you awake it is as if, you never were here, and I long for the girl I saw dreaming of blind nothings. I want to see your sun, rise. I want to breathe freely with you. I want to sit with you and think of nothing, at all. I don’t want to hear your queries or handle your questions. I don’t want to be your placebo or neutered affection.
You have the capacity to bend and break, to give and take. But it’s like a language you don’t understand. Your fragility to me is something you cannot see. You believe in a faith I see is unkind, you believe but I think you are blind. But this is just my observation. And I have been proved wrong many times before. Who am I, to think that your words are wrong and don’t make sense to my heart? I listen with great in trepidation to what you think you are saying. I wish I could understand you. I try my best. Sometimes it’s not good enough. I am deemed weak to your tough. I am too heady, living in the clouds. And yet I do not doubt, you; rather you should doubt me, and I be less in your eyes, I can see them, benign with distaste, at something you don’t understand.
I think you look pretty. Your eyes sparkle with anonymity to their shine. To me. Sorry for what I have done. A million times before; to think you are something more. Too many expectations blur my vision, to give you too much to aspire to and the let you feel my derision. Here is peace. In my arms. I wait for you. I promise. I take off my grief for you, my hat is laid on the bed, for here I am at home. Turning your head to the east, I look to the west, I watch you put on your Sunday Best. For you would never show yourself naked to me. Never undress fully for me. Never look at me, except in a moment of passion, when I can see you. And I mean the blinding beauty that you hold within you.
I turned off the telephone, because I was waiting for your call. For I could feed you a thousand times a day, and still your hunger would not be fulfilled. So here I am left here, wondering, what is your exact use for me? I am not your mirror, nor your aficionado. Maybe you should come with a list of instructions because I am as lost as I was found before I met you. You look beautiful tonight, in that dress, in those shoes. And I thought you were going to leave. Me. I think I kinda like it. Because although you can’t see it, I am smiling, at you. That your beauty is only skin deep, it seems.
You have the capacity to bend and break, to give and take. But it’s like a language you don’t understand. Your fragility to me is something you cannot see. You believe in a faith I see is unkind, you believe but I think you are blind. But this is just my observation. And I have been proved wrong many times before. Who am I, to think that your words are wrong and don’t make sense to my heart? I listen with great in trepidation to what you think you are saying. I wish I could understand you. I try my best. Sometimes it’s not good enough. I am deemed weak to your tough. I am too heady, living in the clouds. And yet I do not doubt, you; rather you should doubt me, and I be less in your eyes, I can see them, benign with distaste, at something you don’t understand.
I think you look pretty. Your eyes sparkle with anonymity to their shine. To me. Sorry for what I have done. A million times before; to think you are something more. Too many expectations blur my vision, to give you too much to aspire to and the let you feel my derision. Here is peace. In my arms. I wait for you. I promise. I take off my grief for you, my hat is laid on the bed, for here I am at home. Turning your head to the east, I look to the west, I watch you put on your Sunday Best. For you would never show yourself naked to me. Never undress fully for me. Never look at me, except in a moment of passion, when I can see you. And I mean the blinding beauty that you hold within you.
I turned off the telephone, because I was waiting for your call. For I could feed you a thousand times a day, and still your hunger would not be fulfilled. So here I am left here, wondering, what is your exact use for me? I am not your mirror, nor your aficionado. Maybe you should come with a list of instructions because I am as lost as I was found before I met you. You look beautiful tonight, in that dress, in those shoes. And I thought you were going to leave. Me. I think I kinda like it. Because although you can’t see it, I am smiling, at you. That your beauty is only skin deep, it seems.
