People think he's perfect when he's not,
People think he just breezes through life without a care when he doesn't,
People think he can just shrug everything off but he can't.

Nobody sees the real Mr. Perfect.
Nobody sees that he works for it.
Nobody sees how hard he tries.
Nobody hears his silent cries.
Nobody... but me.

I see the man behind the mask because I wear one too,
I see how hard he works on it though just like me,
I see how every shard of him is driven to be perfect just like me,
I hear his silent screams because I scream the same things,
Only nobody sees... at least I think.

I think he can see the girl behind the mask when he looks into my eyes,
I think knows how hard I work when I ask him for help,
I think he can sense that all of me is driven to being perfect when he stands near,
I think he can hear my silent screams when he hears my voice,
I think he's like me.

Eyes empty as promises

Haunt

Follow

Stalk

Through the rhinestone glamour
And the gleaming twilight.

Predatory desire

Roars

Flickers

Vanishes

Snuffed by fickle hearts
And volatile tempers.

Mean ole mister
Never loved no one
Held his heart on his belt
Right next to his gun
Spat tobacco
On the blood red dirt
Didnt give a ****
Who the hell he hurt
Cant call mommy
When the pen fails the sword
Cant run to daddy
With no apologetic word
Give me a hand
Ill give you an arm
Take away my eyes
And your's'll come to harm
Mean ole mister
Knows what he does
Just getting by
Anyway he must
He learned that momma
Dont give a ****
He learned that daddy
Likes his mean hand
Youve gotta be tough
Hold up your own
Youve got to make sure
Through out life youve grown
Mean ole mister
Might make you cry
But mean ole mister
Sure as hell knows why

Dribbling drops from above,
sunken in cieling
seal skin smooth
saltfish nicely
butchered
bubbling

Floats and
sinks for
ocean floor
kisses
-coquetishly-

Can't stay too
long,

Hey, I'm Mister
Meeseeks,
look at me!
Can you finish cooking?

Can't exist too
long

Simple tasks in
order to give
them a quick
and proper
inevitable
heat death

Blank pages, first it was Miss Her that began the first words.

"Mister Him at the corner of that dusty pavement.

                     Autumn balmy hues mingled with coffee's bitterness.

One kiss on a forehead, an inward gasp."

Then, Mister Him began to dot the dots on her (i)'s,
punctuating it with little smiles, crinkled eyes
and sometimes,
though he will
    n e v e r
admit,

a slight crimson painted on cheeks.

So,
sweet heart,
that is a
love story.

My words become yours.
    Yours became mine.
Oh, it does seems like our heart-beats
*rhyme.