I’m mad about your mania,
making plans that always revolve around your ruling passion,
your crazed addiction,
for the way I simply exist.
I am forever hanging out in your hang ups,
the prettiest of your preoccupations,
possessing your every thought,
your darling demon,
corrupting your conscious,
until it breathes,
pleads for me.
I am the fight that leaves you faltering,
the spoiled spectre that will always haunt you.
I am your Kootie Pie Koopa,
and I want your whole heart for my birthday,
I spend my summers,
sitting on the tip of your tongue,
spoken into your serene dreamscape,
keeping your gaze as a gift for myself.
I am going to be the empress of everywhere,
knocking down the real world,
to build a dream for us to live in,
where I will rule supreme,
sometimes letting it seem like we could be close,
before I break old boundaries out of prison,
and let them terrorise our newfound happiness.
These are the lifestyles of the loved and blameless.
I cannot explain,
why you seem to look at me,
and see the answer to every prayer and birthday wish.
I think I play up,
being a spoiled bitch,
just to see how long it takes,
for you to decide that I’m just not pretty enough for that kind of behaviour,
I count down the days,
wondering how long it takes,
for the magic to wear off,
wondering when you will see what everyone before you saw,
even before I decided I deserved the world,
wondering when I will no longer be someone you love,
simply becoming someone you fuck and lie to.
And maybe in the end,
I will regrettably remain a stuck up kitten,
who won’t sign autographs,
for the sake of my sanity,
and self preservation,
merely a meek mouse,
will always be my biggest fan.
in the end,
I’ll realise that you never say no,
because you know that nobody else said yes.
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