On Being In Love With You
Tears on my pillow,
Close the window,
Block the cold wind from
Stomping its feet at my door.
Another day to remember, before Jezebel stole my heart without regret, still beating,
without hope.
Some things are true and can never be altered,
knowing there is never enough time,
never wanting my love for you to end.
Perfection, just beyond my reach.
It is impossible to keep my heart from reaching for your love, believing tomorrow can never be taken away if I can only stay awake through the throes of another night.
Stripping out the time between what is real or what is illusion as it shifts just beyond my reach.
I find myself swallowed up by the elemental torture of watching forbidden dreams flicker through the lens of my eye. Wanton desires burn deep.
Is being in love with you nothing more than a momentary ripple across time? Perhaps.
Love is an emotion not easily defined since it is always present: stealing through the depths of night, unable to understand how this could have happened.
I watch my shadow flee into the darkness, afraid it will never reappear and I will be left stranded in this wasteland I have wandered into, with no way home.
Every time I think of you I am in danger of being swept away, dragged under a relentless wave, unable to resurface and save what little of me there is left to be saved.
Both prisoner and victim, a cruel trick of fate, making me believe you care.
Tears on my pillow,
Close the window,
Lock the door, I cannot let you back inside.
I am cloaked by indecision, mirrored by my hidden doubts,
Exposed to the elements, always fleeing from my love.
There is a judgment to be rendered when the walls carefully constructed crumble to the hard ground, leaving me naked and vulnerable.
Captive to your studied indifference, beguiled by your constant betrayal, I can never forgive myself for the failure of falling in love with you.
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