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Sleep is a poison I know not how to take, once it infects the body you're doomed and have to allow it to take it's course. But what a slow-working poison it can be, and how reluctant to take it's hold. It seems my lips are themselves a powerful antidote and as soon as sleep touches them it dies.
Still I soldier on. Still I am resistant to your charms. Resistant until the next time you smile on me, until the next time you care. My heart jumps at your every whim, my soul at your words. I know not how to escape this curse, this poison, deadlier than the deepest sleep. Utterly uncureable.
Moving on is no mean feat, I wish that somehow something would happen that would help me, save me from drowning in the memory of you. I hate you, I've come to realise that, but there can be no denial that life without you seems empty and meaningless. You would hate these words but I don't care . . .
Kiss me or kill me, neither is criminal but both are exceptionally enjoyable. A masochist through and through, I bleed for you, metaphorical blood from metaphorical veins. . . What do you think of my plight? It's less of a plight and more of a mild complaint, but it still wears away at me over time.
I choke on silent fumes of hatred. Why would you say such pointless things? Why make me jealous when you don't care how I love you? Why measure my love which you have no intention of returning? I have no love, just a mild detatchment and jealousy for those you use against me.
Caked with malice and telling a thousand lies your eyes watch the passage of my breath. They narrow at the sign that I still live. Why do you watch me? You are attentive to my every move, who I talk to and why, what I say. Why does it bother you? It is no longer down to your whim.
