I do not believe anymore in you love.
You said I was your light,
I was pretty you said
as you secretly wrote letters to a hundred other women
with the exact same script. Photocopied love letters,
honey, they are of no use to me.

A man, a boy, a lover.
They're all the same, never satisfied.
I'll make love to you and call you my muse
because there's nothing you can say that will
make me believe differently.
I'd rather wander the world alone for another eighty years
then fall two thousand feet from the air until I crash.
Crash, burn, paralyze.

Darling, you never even looked me in the eye.
Kiss me, or is it because I hesitate?
There are far quicker prey to feed upon
and I am a hard catch when running hurts too much or
isn't worth the risk of failure.
Tell me, where is your gall?

If only you knew darling, my taste is caviar to your trout.
I make love a beautiful thing, though you'd rather have a cheap devour off
the sleaziest menu in town.

06/25/2012

Posted on 06/25/2012
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