I only feel what's bad

and I'm really good at it.

I wasn't born

to be myself,

I was someone else's.

I got all the help money can buy

but I can't be helped,

but when you say that I'm your friend,

I really hope it's real this time.

I hope you're real this time.

Every day the sun sets the same
and night comes again
and we disappear into dreams until the morning,
to fight the monsters we imagined but couldn't see.

I treated you like any other girl.

I wanted you to want to **** me,
and maybe you did,
but you also fell in love
with my weaknesses, and
that wasn't the plan but
what a relief it was
to drop the get-up.

You found my vulnerabilities
delicious
and I
found your short-comings
****.

This is my kind of love.

The black horizon stares
at me like a fatal wound.
I might now know to
respect the sunrise.
The void will always
brighten eventually.

If I could sculpt a memory
then
I would sculpt your eyes

looking at me like
I've made you proud,

as if you've been
rooting for me from the start.

Eyes which crinkle
and twinkle
with a wry courage that devours
dishonesty with righteous intent.

They see me for what I am
and what I could become.

They are my catalyst and judge.
They are a canvas on which I paint
the world.

Your eyes
they turn me.