What makes her both an angel and vixen? What makes me want to be her? What has me chasing after her? What makes me question my affection?
She controls me like a puppet master to a puppet, and manipulates me as she wishes. She controls how I feel and think. She is the reason I am still me; the reason I am me. She is inside me, as I am of her. We share no interest nor humor yet we are the same.
She runs through my veins.
She is a devil but with white wings. She is innocent yet guilty. She alone is both good and bad. She has the kindness of an angel, yet the cruelty of the devil. She has the innocence of a priest yet the thoughts of a junky...maybe the other way around. She is a flame, a bomb just waiting to explode, she is not someone to mess with. And out of anyone in the world to picked she picked me. Me. She saved me from being her and just as soon left without a word. Not even as much as a whisper. She is gone, but alive.
She is never around but always with me; she a voice inside my head; she is what lurks in my every thought, even when she is not in them. She is in my subconscious.
I aspire to be her yet she wishes nothing but for emptiness. She is the coldest person in my world, yet at the same time cries for the simplest of pains.
She is the most imbecile, idiot, selfish, stingy person in my world; yet, if you were to look under the word kind you’d find her there.
Why isn’t she here to control me? Why do I feel empty? Why am I even trying to search for a replacement? I am a fool to think that I can ever replace my other half. My other me; the other half of my soul; the only other girl.
After all, she is practically me.