Say you don’t love me but of course I just refuse, to see between the lines of all the times you just elude.
To me you’re a vixen, I mean my addiction. I mean my prescription. I’d love to overdose.
I’d lay in comatose with painted smile upon my face and lay in style upon my grace of knowing I was the artist.
A pretty picture was painted and you depict it as the mastery of loving in disaster, see…
I love when you touch me. Hit me ’til I bleed and yell. You run through my veins, and I want you to see yourself.
You want to see my heart? If I cut it out and place it in your hands, will you show it to your friends or shove it in your pocket and begin to just pretend…
I don’t exist to you. I’m hit or miss to you. Bitch, I’m the bomb. At your heart I aim my missiles through.
Yes, through and not at it. This is the second time; (b)ad ha(b)it.
So now I’m left with time on this rooftop. Just watched my shoes drop. I have to chase them. With you, my time is wasting.