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We burn
we burn.
I burn,
you burn,
and we're still trying to fly with singed feathers.
You're hiding something,
and not very well,
behind a mask cracked by your own smile
I offer you my hand only to draw it back,
bruised and battered by your rejection.
Still, it returns,
one more time,
one more time,
once more.
You cannot say, that I did not try
to save you.
I cannot say the same.
and for that, I burn.
No.
That's not right.
You tried once, and saved me, just a bit,
and for that
one more time,
oce more time,
once more.
I cannot save you
you don't want to be saved
by me.
You will not let me be the rope to draw you ashore.
But I can be a bouy,
to be pushed down,
let you drown me as you curse my existence,
my failure.
You are waiting,
waiting,
waiting for your preciouse prince, knight, hero.
To sweep you away.
You dream of him, I can see it in your eyes,
in your ways,
slap me aside, because for all I try to be,
I cannot be that.
And you hate me for that.
And you may hate me for that.
But I must try
one more time
one more time
once more.
Bruised,
bloody,
broken.
One more time
one more time,
once more.
Want to settle there in your well
of self pity.
But I will not let you,
keep dragging in the painful light,
calling out the preciouse,
ugly
lies,
denouncing those carefully constructed peacock feathers for what
they really are.
You hate that I can do that.
even the smallest crack,
and I will weasel it out,
and pick it apart.
one more time
one more time
once more.
Bruised, but not broken.
One more time,
one more time,
once more.
Tired, but not dead.
One more time,
one more time,
once more.


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