There's something in the way that you're looking at me. Something in your eyes that draws me in, drowning in your soul. Your pain, your anger. You make me feel so complete. So happy. At the same time you make me feel alone. Loved, but so far, far away from the things, the people that I love. That love me.

Love me- your eyes scream. You reach out for the next one. Holding on until they fly away. An escape from overwhelming love. Lust. Control. You.

Hurt me- your eyes whisper, sultry and commanding. I'm here for you're pleasure, your pain. You cannot keep me, because the more you try to, the more it hurts you. You can look into the eyes of your chosen, and see the unadulterated lust, fear. They want your body. Your heart. Your fear. They get that, and then leave. You cling, until someone says to let go.

You can't-- can you?


Hate me- only you can't see that in your eyes. That takes knowing you. Talking to you. Only then can you realize that you only do this because you want them to hate you. You want the fire of their hate. You need it to keep going. To stay alive. To stay sane.

Look at me then. What do you see in my eyes? Those soul searching, silently screaming eyes. Those betrayors of secrets, purveyors of lies. Demons in plain sight. My eyes will ache with the lonliness of a crowd. Will laugh with the subtly of the humor in a glance. The ridicule, and the unease. The laughter.

Shining overbright with pain, tears.

Longing to be with you.

Even if you don't understand.

Even if all you understand is that I want to hold on for all I'm worth, with everything I am.

Not much, but all I can give you.

And you'd never see the pain, the tears, the saddness until you stopped looking, and started seeing.

See me, then look for me.

I'm in here somewhere, come find me.

"To know you is to hate you, so loving you must be like suicide." A line from a song, for a truth. To know you, is to hate you. But to know you is to love you, and to always want you to be there. And loving you really is like suicide. I'll always be here though. Because if I did die, who would come look for me in hell. Who would shatter my dreams of heaven and live with me in hell?

No one. Not even you. So should I still love you? If every moment it's like commiting suicide?


I'm a masochist, what can I say?

"Everybody loves a joke, but no one likes a fool." Isn't that what I am? The fool. The one that no body wants to admit they only stick around for the jokes. The laughter at someone else's expense. As long as it is someone else's expense. The joker's maybe? Yesyesyes. Always the Joker's expense. Dance monkey, dance.

"And you're always cracking the same old lines again. You're well rehearsed in every verse and that was stated clear but no one understands your verity." Hehehehehe. Maybe they don't see through all the jokes, the lies. They're all the same. The same punch lines, over and over and over. But they always laugh. If they notice them at all.

Did you hear the one about... Nevermind... It isn't that great anyways...

"You're a figment of you're own imagination."

Huh, really? Doc, I'd like a new mirror, this one's all cracked up.

Buh-duhn-chh. I made a funny.