you speak of G-o-d,
of your Lord,
of the savior of your soul.
me?
i speak of fate.
you speak of love,
of midnight kisses and
heart break.
me?
i speak of hate.
you talk wildly,
eyes crazy, arms raised.
you talk beautifully and
beautiful is something we all crave.
i talk quiet,
whispers, mumbles,
broken by the occasional fit of simple
silence.
we are so different that no piece of us is even close to being the same
if you locked me in an asylum that would be okay, because with the way everything is going i'm sure-
i'm insane.
not to mention the fact that anything involving you would be perfect,
for me at least.
you have a sweet tooth,
and i'm undeniably bitter.
i love ya,
but it won't work.
i'm not a pessimist;
trust me,
it's just the truth:
you'd rather die than admit that you know
i love you.