But she's so pretty, I never knew. You are.

I sit alone and can't help but stare, feel like a dirty bad girl in this darkened corner and feed upon the fears I've never seen. I've got hungry eyes, all right, and before anything and after all I'm just a shadowboxer sleeping beneath the shifting figures of passionate despair and

 their laughter, it floats over the sea of faces held in thrall by your songbird beauty bitter.

Could you not love me, have you in my heart

And although the twining prayers of unrighted wrong alight to heights known and seen by more than my eyes, your sweetness, sorrow slighted still chafes my disquiet raw. I - you are wondrous and as vast as the expanse between his unknown yesterdays and my small this mornings.

How much more than I am ever now, and give them all to you while your sleep's oblivion leaves my smiles dripping with guilt.

How much more than I could ever be, my arms could not be so pinioned that they'd feather and take flight. I wear your heart, my albatross, 'round my choking throat like weighted crucifix and everyday

   attending upon the final breath, you bring me to my knees

The song that only wakes in death.

The curtain is coming down all over town, and a dirge would play

I cannot care what's in you, what stories them pretty lips are telling, and all the ways that I will not be - that is not me. Would you, oh world-weary ingenue, give birth to the sorrow that swells inside you

more like the lies you tell than any other girl you've lost.

So come home with me, what will I do - your kiss like a killer the knife you've been hiding beneath that clouded dreamy veneer. One more will never hurt the ones we do not know - calm brought on by lethargy - you drew me out of the bloodveins that I've been hiding (who told me that you would fix me?) your hypodermic memory stinging me into secret chagrin

blushing

(with desire?) the dancing girl sweating sleeping bucking and heaving on that splintery wooden floor, a thousand and one crown of thorns pushing and pulling and desperate to lick your little wounds

you

made

And still those dark eyes, watching (always watching) the girl with the short shift stand with faithless hunger outside those heavy doors that hide salvation. I didn't do it, I couldn't - I'm just a kid for your love and mercy don't make me -

           and you did. She hides behind a fantasy, slipping further than I could've known; for all the sleepless nights price paid by unsold slavery. Your pain, your passion, your purity and prudence, your prostituted personalities, gave it all to me and for what could I do?

Collapse into me. (Just stop, please.)

Please, don't stop.