His-stories

You want to concern yourself with my words, my heart...where it's at..

Only for you to condemn them later,
And toss my sizzling slivers up,
For scramble.

You wanted my heart...
Or never.

Got it with Apathy.
Raged and pushed away.

Tell me something...

Does Apathy have a capacity to Rage over the same subject matter?

Wake up.
"What's your problem?!" She shouts and pushes you back- it doesn't do anything.
Doesn't snap you out,
Only snaps you harder...

Tell me...
Do you love?
Is there THAT in you, anywhere?

Will you not speak kindly,
And why?

"For a Psychic Girl, she knows nothing" they whisper.

I'm not whispering anymore.
Hurt equals mean with you.
You have always had this sense that has acted like you hate me.
My fault, I suppose.
You told me you hated women....

I didn't believe you...

But I do now.

I will put my Magnus Opus, down.
I was indeed...chasing the most far-out dream...

Illusionary.
So

God-damned
Illusionary.

But I guess it makes
For great material...

Said the artist.
Said the writer.

His sadness
Will be
My His-stories.

I loved him.
But he

Never
Loved me.