I’m a rush of emotions, venerable to a disgusting point of no return. I hang onto every last word, overanalyze everything that you say, and then I find that you are as hard to predict as lightning striking over my rain splashed window. You are turmoil of beauty; a chaos wrapped together and sent to turn my world into a hurricane of pandemonium and anarchy.
How the repulsive, sickening way she manages to twist your mangled heart, and make you fall for her over and over again will forever remain an ambiguity. You are covered in elusiveness, an imprecision with all her distorted sense of amusement she veils underneath her smile.
She strings you up like a puppet, orders every single attention from you, and resents the way you bestow them upon her. She winds you up like a toy; makes you go in endless, never-ending circles, till you find you have been no where except in her grasps once again. Still she has you within her reach, well within her sight, so close you can never be let go.
Your heart is intertwined with the fingers on her arms, as she, the Puppeteer, and you, the slave to do her behest. And shall such a beautiful thing slip away from her, I shall never ever know.
Because she still has you, and claims you with the moment she asks of you her love, tosses your feelings about. You are under her control, loving her by a strong force of guilt and culpability, and not your hearts desire, leaving you bewildered once again.
How the repulsive, sickening way she manages to twist your mangled heart, and make you fall for her over and over again will forever remain an ambiguity. You are covered in elusiveness, an imprecision with all her distorted sense of amusement she veils underneath her smile.
She strings you up like a puppet, orders every single attention from you, and resents the way you bestow them upon her. She winds you up like a toy; makes you go in endless, never-ending circles, till you find you have been no where except in her grasps once again. Still she has you within her reach, well within her sight, so close you can never be let go.
Your heart is intertwined with the fingers on her arms, as she, the Puppeteer, and you, the slave to do her behest. And shall such a beautiful thing slip away from her, I shall never ever know.
Because she still has you, and claims you with the moment she asks of you her love, tosses your feelings about. You are under her control, loving her by a strong force of guilt and culpability, and not your hearts desire, leaving you bewildered once again.
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Has your heart been incapable to think on it's own? Or are you once again under her spell, and she who has control over everything that you are, and everything else you could ever be ?
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