Once upon a concrete fairytale
There lived, and loved, a girl
With eyes of cuts of sky
And lips of roses red.

She aimed to be kind,
And she aspired to be perfect,
And though it's what you saw
She often fell short,
Like a shot of whiskey;
This lovely, golden girl.

If she so wished,
The stars would have been her hairnet,
The midnight ink her silent gown,
And suitors the slippers that caressed her feet,
The ones she walked all over.

She was described as
Spring; as laughter in liquid form
To be drank in slowly; as ice
On the spine - so revitalizing;
Like your future,
Like everything you wanted.

But she didn't want
Any part of herself.
She found her words too sweet,
Her beliefs too strong,
She found her own life and song too stifling.

And her Prince was a long time coming.

And you watched her wither,
Eat poison apples, and wake herself up,
You watched her become still, and quiet,
With the lonely that froze her
Out of her own heart.

And so you, her jailer, with your watchful stare,
Took pity, and, releasing her,
From her self made chains,
You told her to cut her hair, to dress different,
To do anything to reanimate her mind.
You gave her the key.

And she used it.
Then she threw it out the tower,
So it could never again enslave her,
And then she jumped after it.
Chasing sweet, unparalleled freedom.

And she lived happily ever after
In the hearts and minds of men.

No puppet strings attached.

Eternity is a nice word.
Like a night that never ends,
A hug that never releases,
A love that never leaves,
A life that never fades.
Eternity is a nice word,
But it's not something that you or I
Could afford.
So don't you dare make promises
You cannot keep.

In a way I
Want to let you go.

I will build a headstone
With the salt from the tears
I've cried.

I've flowered enough blood
To give you as many bouquets as you like

You've given me plenty,
So I'd like to give some back.

Gratitude is making me teary
Or is that the knowledge of the nothing

That will follow all this muchness?

This is a weak kind of mourning.
I will never see you again.
Please, stupid girl, believe it.

Oh...

That is it.
You are gone.

Breathing, you walk out the door,

Dead to me.

For all your promises and kind words
You are not here.
I have no faith! That's a fact, and you are faithless to me;
And I believe in that like I believe the Earth is round.

Where were you last night when I wanted to hear your voice?
When I had to endure this person popping in to see you?
Sorry, didn't think anyone was in...
So pretty, this person. Poppy, her name, a scarlet flower
Like the colour of my breaking heart.

Did you tell them I was non-existent?
And do you use me as only an 'imaginary' paramour?
The truth being far too shameful to admit,
That I exist and that I love you, and that it is you who are weak
With your weaknesses for flesh, and sordid flowers.

You cry like a crying of wolves when I leave.
You talk to me sweetly about tiny things,
You give me the edges of the puzzle, and I have to imagine
The bigger picture. I'm living an imaginary life
And that is on your shoulders.

I'm lacking a soul, or so you say, and you cannot see
That it is you who is making my life soulless
Draining my colour, turning me grey.
You act as though it is me who drags you down,
But that is only life my dear, and if you wish to ascend to your heaven,
Truly, you'll find no halting hand from me.

I know they've been sung about many times before

Cursed at more times than I've breathed in oxygen

And I know they'll be here for longer than I'll be

And they'll go in their own time, winking out without flare,

But now, if they could feel the cavern gaping in my chest,

Deeper and blacker than dark matter,

If they could hear this scream, supersonic, ultrasound,

They would simply cease to exist.

I remember being me.
What's it like to be you?
Somebody asked me once, and I said it was... normal.

But in truth, it was like having this massive black hole of power in my core.

Being me:
Knowing that if I didn't smile at someone of a morning
They'd spend the rest of the day hating their brain, thinking their name was on everybody's lips
For all the wrong reasons.

Being me:
Knowing that if I wore heels and a tank top,
A girl two years younger than me would start to tweet
About wanting to diet
Not an hour after we say our goodbyes, me towering over her as I hug her loosely,
Because my ribs would hurt her otherwise.

Being me:
Knowing I have some wash of beauty on my features
Knowing my impossible curves rival Helen of Troy's
And knowing my detachment meant the end
Between me and my only honest friend.

Being me:
Never asked to do anything,
Because it was obvious I was too busy, my hands too soft.
But secretly lonely, and outside plotting plants with my father,
Because he's the best girlfriend I've ever had.

Being me:
Painting pretty pictures.
Well done darling girl.
Do you want to see my book of self portraits?
They're perfectly ugly, in black and white, and I love every one.

Being me:
Hating every girl who looks at you funny
Saying no to every other guy,
Because I'm waiting for the day you look at me funny.
Saying yes to everything you ask, because I'm stupid, and I'll play your games
Though you're not perfect.

Being me:
Saying goodbye to all my friends last May,
And not hearing from a single one of those petty people.
I think they'd had enough of pretty people.
And I think I can say the same.

I remember being me.

Being vibrant.
Being brighter than the sun.
Being much too harsh to look at.

I'm glad I'll drive your next girl insane
With my phantom kisses that
May or may not have left stains on your brain.

Because you see, as perfect as she will be,
I **** red lipstick and trilbies and kohl
And it's rare in a woman to be able to watch Top Gear
Without thinking of safety hazards, and seatbelts.

I hope she knows that however loose she wears her hair,
She'll never be as wild as me.
And as cool as she sounds,
I have a bite like a kiwi,
And I always leave an after taste that isn't strawberry and sugar.

So yeah, she's suave and calm and collected, and that is **** fine,
I'll give her that.
But I'm sarcastic.

And I call you out when you become too boring,
Like for instance,
Not making me mad at you at least once a day
For making me think about things that I would like to just blitz over
As I do with many other things
Like the people who loved us.

Because all we needed was each other.

And although she pouts,
I smirk.
She has big eyes, but mine are of lynxes.

I'm your own personal minx.

And she knows I'll always be wrapped around your neck.
And however close she gets to you
I'm always right beside you, inside you
Every breath she takes,
Every mistake in love you make.