Margarita confessions

I don't play games I don't play hard to get But it's hard to get Why I'm filled with regrets Deceits and cheats broken ground beneath my feet I've crawled out of those dark places to find my face in the same slice of humble pie Love is the definition of insanity I'm white clothes straight jacket committed remained anxious as my vulnerability multiplied like mitosis from each kiss infectiously caressed my soft skin I can't begin to think why I've let you in to again feel alone in this place with no atten-tion I'm bewildered by the complications. I don't get it, yesterday you were here and we were in it and today by the end of the day you've simply left me. Dark rooms white walls in my mind all around You asked me to be your girl and it astounds me why I can't find you anywhere in my reality, you don't even exist anymore. I'm sweet like confection Tempted dark chocolate complexion Escaped the resurrection of a girl who believed that maybe love wouldn't punish her For the heartbeat bleeding forever on her sleeve

Unproductive Emotions

I am filled with unproductive emotion Bright like the flame ablaze the substance of the heart you gave For it was an untrue caricature: my heart is transparent, defenseless and fragile Sweet like the kisses I planted gently planned so effortlessly even telepathically Undesired by my desire I am filled with unproductive emotion Spilling seconds of smoke in my lungs liquors on my tongue from salty faced tears stained where cheeks once smiled Ropes have taken my soul to hang freely as spirited feet dangle in winter breeze icles are warmer than the veins I grow where arteries may direct away from my heart Like a chastity belt that screams "I TOLD YOU SO" Yet I have never quite learned my lesson Progression within my unproductive emotion Mindless videos of recent events and words replayed in black and white I have gained twenty pounds of weight on my chest I digress to a previous form I once evolved from willing to believe that Love simply means the desire to never leave and fruitful hopes of happiness that will never exist because those with gracious hearts will always finish last and its not you, it's me. but its me. That's filled with unproductive emotion. My Frankenstein heart can not bare another-single-stitch. I do regret knowing you. For knowing what your love is makes knowing your absence a terminating factor. A fatality worse than death, punishable by self-pity. So selfishly I realize that I will not win in my demise of love It is not meant for those who emerge from reflected desire Or those that emerge from unimagined passions traveled. It is simply meant for those who are not selfless Those that are selfish, and it simply is not me. So instead of all of the many things that I have become accustomed to All of the things that I should feel and should undoubtly do I will consume myself in hating the thoughts of you bleeding flesh from within, a sin you didn't know existed I was all in and for that I am devastated with unproductive emotion.