You may be my number one but,
Coming in second place ain’t nothing but me on the run from your first love.
Sneaking into your room
Smelling nothing but her fresh sprayed perfume
Laying on her pillow on her side of the bed
Its almost too easy to just pretend
To you, there is nothing to mend
Nothing wrong with it
It’s just *** no feelings in it
You say to yourself “it isn’t really cheating”
While telling me I’m the one who really gets your heart beating
Filling me with fleeting horomones I know will go away when I go home
But
Right now you and I are all alone
If I try to leave you’ll just call my name and groan
“I can’t live without you”
So I’ll crawl into the bed that you pretend is ours
As if we’re the ones engaged in more than just an affair
I lie to you and  tell you I just don’t care that i am not yours
As you hold my body and stroke my hair
I almost feel loved
But I know in reality there are no doves in our future
And No future for those imaginary symbols of love to inhabit
So, after our fun
I rise up and
Smile and
Say goodbye
Because no matter how hard I try I will
Never be your number one
And not looking back I’m
Back on the run
This time, not from your day one,
But from you, and your false illusion of love.

Matthew Scott Harris (the second offspring and only son of
Boyce and the late Harriet Harris) made his unheralded debut on
a brutally cold January thirteenth almost three score years ago.
     His father - employed as a mechanical engineer with general
electric heard the powerful lungs of this gangly newborn prior to
being permitted to cradle said infant.
Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, this sole son spent the majority of his
fifty plus LIX existence within southeastern Montgomery County
Pennsylvania.
     Extreme shyness in tandem with a congenital speech defect
(submucous cleft palate) seemed to alienate him from other class
mates.
     As an outside neutral observer, I watched with gut when
ching agony how he seemed socially detached and rarely invited
to join in any reindeer games, rather mean kids balled their fists
and swung faux pas sucker punches to sleigh **** shay -
so they did say.
     Yes, a gross degree of taunting left him without friends.
     Lack of confidence and ultra reticence offered hue manna
tee to bullies.
     Matter of fact, this vulnerability, and susceptibility per
receiving verbal slings continued thru public education.
     He graduated without any vocational idea (despite an ignoble
attempt to fail - and yet got promoted nonetheless), and then
endured parental wrath equal ultimatums with a scathing expletive
filled lectures.
     The absence of clear-cut goals found him enrolling and with
drawing from countless colleges and/or universities.
     Delay with interpersonal success accompanied like a dark
shadow creeping closer to the edge of night.

Stop
Stop
Don't make me feel guilty. Don't give me those eyes. un
Run
I'll run from my problems. I know it's bad for me.
Look
Look
It's time to let me go. It's only going to hurt a little bit.
Close
Close
Stop looking for someone again. Stop trying to fill that hole.
No good
No good
It won't change anything. It won't heal you at all.
Not bad
Not bad
You can't demonize me. You can't make me feel worse.
Leave
Leave
I won't leave.
I won't leave.
I have to leave.
I have to leave.

My neglected duties lie in a heap on the floor, my head hurts as I stare down at them. So many.
And time? Fleeting.
I receive no sympathy from time. I evoke no empathy from my own conscience, nor fantasy.
All the unspoken words I’ve neglected to voice lie gentle on the nightstand.
And I sleep sound.

you always said that you love the chase
and, my darling, i'm no good at running

Isn't this feature amazing?
I said ever beaming.

Hurry,
Figure out the clues.

Time is ticking
As the blood is dripping

It's almost midnight
Goodbye, Cinderella.