Inspiration and Perspiration.
"This addiction is do or die, baby.
This bed is empty without you here. You're like morphine, so goddamn addictive, it's bad for me. Your sweet poison packs one hell of a punch, hidden beneath the sugar and spice. The cry for you is persistent, begging, pleading for release. Any kind. A whiff of your deodorant makes my head spin with longing. Brings an ache to my heart. I need you in my bed tonight. Can you make it? Probably not, it's a pity really. So prepared to succumb to your darkness again, but realisation strikes me. I'm not going to die without you, although your voice is intoxicating, I think I can survicve. Despite the fact that every particle of me is screaming for you, I'll get over it..Til you come back and make me realise what I was missing. Then, baby, I'm back to square one. I hope you feel the fucking same. Not that words could ever do this addiction justice.
--
"Fucked up memories & a one way street"
Holding on, letting go. The future or the past? The decisions up to him, but I don't think he can make it. Will he start the fire that threatens to burn between us, or will he let it dwindle away and die to remain in the cold, leeching arms of the past? Will I become his memory? His love for me wavers because of the pain, but he's gotta let go before he can move on. It's up to him, I can't make the choice. There's a fork in the road, baby, and both are one way streets. Can he make it?
--
"She's the depressant to your anti"
They say blood is thicker than water. Well to her the saying holds no weight. Family can make or break you, love or hate you, and unfortunately she got the latter of both. Used and abused, battered and bruised (in every sense you could think of) her life has been more downs than ups and the bad memories always overwhelm the good, leeching with their darkness and their scars. Her scars aren't the physical kind, although they could be if she tried. She doesn't colour herself black and call herself emo, nor does she cut and blame it on the fashion trend. She got over the cutting long, long ago. The depression she hides with a happy facade, though the mirror she stares into is cracked. A good actress, is she not? Better than you'll ever know, you poor fool. This play will only be over once she's dead and buried, once she's bowed at the final curtain call. So get used to never knowing the true her. Even if she lets you get close, she's still hidden. Hide and Seel is her favourite game. They never find her. You can try though, but be careful, that barbed wire isn't there for decoration.
--
This bed is empty without you here. You're like morphine, so goddamn addictive, it's bad for me. Your sweet poison packs one hell of a punch, hidden beneath the sugar and spice. The cry for you is persistent, begging, pleading for release. Any kind. A whiff of your deodorant makes my head spin with longing. Brings an ache to my heart. I need you in my bed tonight. Can you make it? Probably not, it's a pity really. So prepared to succumb to your darkness again, but realisation strikes me. I'm not going to die without you, although your voice is intoxicating, I think I can survicve. Despite the fact that every particle of me is screaming for you, I'll get over it..Til you come back and make me realise what I was missing. Then, baby, I'm back to square one. I hope you feel the fucking same. Not that words could ever do this addiction justice.
--
"Fucked up memories & a one way street"
Holding on, letting go. The future or the past? The decisions up to him, but I don't think he can make it. Will he start the fire that threatens to burn between us, or will he let it dwindle away and die to remain in the cold, leeching arms of the past? Will I become his memory? His love for me wavers because of the pain, but he's gotta let go before he can move on. It's up to him, I can't make the choice. There's a fork in the road, baby, and both are one way streets. Can he make it?
--
"She's the depressant to your anti"
They say blood is thicker than water. Well to her the saying holds no weight. Family can make or break you, love or hate you, and unfortunately she got the latter of both. Used and abused, battered and bruised (in every sense you could think of) her life has been more downs than ups and the bad memories always overwhelm the good, leeching with their darkness and their scars. Her scars aren't the physical kind, although they could be if she tried. She doesn't colour herself black and call herself emo, nor does she cut and blame it on the fashion trend. She got over the cutting long, long ago. The depression she hides with a happy facade, though the mirror she stares into is cracked. A good actress, is she not? Better than you'll ever know, you poor fool. This play will only be over once she's dead and buried, once she's bowed at the final curtain call. So get used to never knowing the true her. Even if she lets you get close, she's still hidden. Hide and Seel is her favourite game. They never find her. You can try though, but be careful, that barbed wire isn't there for decoration.
--