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Did you ever love me, like I loved your hands?
On my throat as you choked me with your lips, on hers.
Did you ever want me, like I wanted your attention?
Out of the corner of your eye, when she spoke.
Did you ever need me, like I needed you around?
Or did you not care, like the poet who wrote these line?
Ignoring that the similies, like metaphors of you, were not for her.
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Insane in the Gislaine
I act, I write, I try to sing and dance, and I think solely with my right brain. I have foreign parents so the need to be the best in every possible way is strong, but it's fun because I have different reasons why my hair looks and behaves the way it does. Sleep is for the weak. *week.
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