You always seem to be one step ahead of me. One second, right in front, so far away yet so close. You enter my mind and obliterate everything inside it. Ever since the first time you spoke through me. You could see the inside of my head--you could tell there was something. It was that curiosity that controlled you so, that pushed you over the edge towards me. You wanted to know what it was. What was lying in the shadows. You couldn't help yourself, could you? And I warned you. I told you what would happen if I let you in.
"I can handle myself," you told me.
I sure as hell couldn't handle what would happen then. I made a decision. A tough one, but it felt like the right one at the time. I was wrong. I thought to myself, sure, she'll be okay. I was wrong. I was wrong. How wrong I was.
I told you what would happen.
Why didn't you listen to me?
So you stayed there. Inside my head. You rooted yourself and spread through my mind like a virus. You stuck to the inside of the walls of my brain and infected it. And I enjoyed every minute of it. I savored it.
But I told you what would happen. What I would do. That I would push you away. I always push away. I hate getting too attached, and I fall far too fast far too far.
Too far, too far, dammit why didn't you listen?
You couldn't handle it, could you? And now I am angry. I am upset, but at the same time I want to forgive you, and yet I don't.
I don't, I don't, I can't! Why is it so damn hard to try and wrap my head around you? For heaven's sake, what is wrong with the decision I need to make?
It's improbable, an impossibility.
Like closing a door shut even though there isn't one. How can I? I can't feel the doorknob. Where is the key for me to throw away?
I can't. I know I want to. And yet to come around once more. You talk, you joke, you laugh, damn you for making me do this. Damn it all to hell.
I try, really I try, but I have to keep my composure, the environment requires it. The facade needs to stand still.
But I'll be damned if it works. You still see right through me.
You are a punk.
And I hate myself for ever letting you in. For showing you what I feel. What I am. But I can't hate you.
I can't. No matter how hard, how much I try.
"I can handle myself," you told me.
I sure as hell couldn't handle what would happen then. I made a decision. A tough one, but it felt like the right one at the time. I was wrong. I thought to myself, sure, she'll be okay. I was wrong. I was wrong. How wrong I was.
I told you what would happen.
Why didn't you listen to me?
So you stayed there. Inside my head. You rooted yourself and spread through my mind like a virus. You stuck to the inside of the walls of my brain and infected it. And I enjoyed every minute of it. I savored it.
But I told you what would happen. What I would do. That I would push you away. I always push away. I hate getting too attached, and I fall far too fast far too far.
Too far, too far, dammit why didn't you listen?
You couldn't handle it, could you? And now I am angry. I am upset, but at the same time I want to forgive you, and yet I don't.
I don't, I don't, I can't! Why is it so damn hard to try and wrap my head around you? For heaven's sake, what is wrong with the decision I need to make?
It's improbable, an impossibility.
Like closing a door shut even though there isn't one. How can I? I can't feel the doorknob. Where is the key for me to throw away?
I can't. I know I want to. And yet to come around once more. You talk, you joke, you laugh, damn you for making me do this. Damn it all to hell.
I try, really I try, but I have to keep my composure, the environment requires it. The facade needs to stand still.
But I'll be damned if it works. You still see right through me.
You are a punk.
And I hate myself for ever letting you in. For showing you what I feel. What I am. But I can't hate you.
I can't. No matter how hard, how much I try.
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