She wants to die young,
but knows she’ll never get that lucky.
She wants an excuse to give up,
to ignore the path she knows she’ll be on forever.
Deep down she knows that nothing will ever be worthy enough to give up.
She’d never quit
But she wants an out so damn bad
Because she can’t stand that she doesn’t know
If it hurts too much,
Or if it doesn’t hurt enough.
She sees the easy way,
She even flirts with it,
The same way she flirts with everything.
It’s all part of her game.
She lives on two levels
She’s got a story,
And she’s got a story she tells people.
The difference between the two,
Makes all the difference.
The surface level,
Where she plays her ordinary self,
Mostly for show.
On a deeper level,
Where she plays both captain and observer,
And no one knows it but her.
She quietly controls everything around her.
She drinks the first,
Sips the second for show,
And passes the third to some chump she’ll play later.
She wonders if you’ll still love her in the morning,
But deep down, you know she doesn’t give a fuck.
You all thought she was playing dumb
Sometime next year
—when the smoke clears and the lights come back on—
You’ll figure out that she knew exactly what she was doing.
She doesn’t want your help
She knows to bite down
On a stick
While she stitches her own wounds.
You can’t stop her now
Just like you didn’t know what she was up to then.
She’s a slow burn.
She uses read receipts because she’s a lady after all.
She might be a lesbian.
Most people want to be around other people.
Some people think they want to be alone,
But they really just want to be around a couple other people,
So they can be assured that not being around anyone else is okay.
She is one of the very few who truly want to just be alone.
She wants to disappear.
She thinks even the act of “disappearing”
Is too dramatic.
What she truly wants
Is to never have been burdened with “appearing” in the first place.
She wants to run away.
Nay, she wants to be away, without having to run.
She wants her existence to have a profound effect on the world
Without ever having existed.
So don’t bother with your thank yous or awards or recognition.
And she doesn’t need your sympathy either
None of it.
She wants to make a cannonball splash,
then sink to the bottom of the water gracefully, quietly—
Spectators mesmerized by the ripples growing outward, ever so delicately—
They wait in awe for her to emerge,
Proud of the show she put on.
The crowd waits and waits as the rippling water continues to soften
But she’s too far down
And sinking still
Bluer and darker she drifts
As any expression now leaves her face
The onlookers grow impatient,
And soon forget the scene altogether.
Just as the last memory faded from their minds,
She’d land softly on the ocean floor.
Without a sound.
She leaves out more than she puts in.
She tells you only how much she thinks you can handle.
And she’s probably already told you too much.