to let a man ambush the parts of you hidden and sacred has never been enough. when there's a stream of confessions begging for mercy at your door, it's best to keep the water out, but you've never really mastered the art of holding this violent tide in. so you'd pay your dues in the ways you know best (ruin yourself a little more, perhaps just a bit more that) and hope that would save you from love's cruel jest. but you've known better than to hide yourself in blasphemy and temptation. men love you when you're debasing yourself to that single concept you've found comfort in. it's not vulnerability, but it definitely is not the intuitive urge to lay beneath his scrutiny unexposed. you've never really been good at keeping the light out, so you let him see into all that ruin, all that mess you've made yourself into just for him. in the ways familiar to you, you'll crawl back to brokenness because there's a girl and she's synonymous to fear of vanity when an eagle is watching. your eyes were never really good at catching onto what goes on in those irises (i can't take anymore, but i'd ruin myself a little more, a little longer to have you look at me again). suffer a little bit, perhaps even open the door and let the dogs in. it's always been in your nature to make yourself predator to what is in his eyes his prey. what does a girl like you do in a place as cruel as this? in hearts like these (hearts like his), girls like you crash and burn.
but a man would ambush the parts of you laid naked and for his to take and it would never be enough.
