Play me the song of your soulMonday, January 3, 2011
Lovers on a battlefield
The rage that filled me was so comfortably familiar. I shame myself when I allow someone to push me to that point. And you know me so well. Too fucking well for your own good. You went against my wishes, you sped behind my back to fulfill your own agenda and I'm sorry but for that I cannot stand. I could have snapped, I was about to crack and you knew it. I saw the fucking fear in your eyes, that familiar fear I've seen just a few times before. Because you knew I was there. So close to the edge I was going to jump and I prepared myself for the consequences because I was willing to sit in the same cell you sat in on that stormy October night. But it was that look in your eye that stopped me because I refuse to lower myself to that point. Your not worth it and to this day I have yet to meet someone who actually is.
And what had me so angry, what had pushed me so far past the fucking brink was not the obvious. You went behind my back and you brought that shit to my sisters house which had me appropriately angry, but it wasnt that- no. It was the fact that you had the audacity to threaten me. to completely ignore what I did for you when the leaves were yellow and brittle. I lied for you. I risked myself. I was ready and willing to step in front of the train for you. It was coming full force and I stood there strong arms braced, body still, lips sealed to save you from what you rightfully deserved. But after all of that you can throw such threats easily into my waiting face.
You wanted to talk and I wanted to attack. You wanted to cry and I wanted to shout. You wanted what I wanted two weeks ago but I said too little too late. "Follow me" you said and I dont know why but I did. Old habits die slow I suppose. But I knew. I knew this would be nothing but bad. And we sat there on that stoop and we turned in circles and spoke the same words and accusations and denial flew like garbage in the wind. In the end we left angry and defeated.
Who exactly is this dark haired man that sits before me? You don't look good that much I can say. Your skin looks gray and puffy bags beneath your eyes sit still atop your freckled cheeks. You look tired and troubled, hurt and beaten, stumbling and weak. Your brown eyes look the same as I remember them but the soul that hides deep behind- well that's nothing but strange and unfamiliar. Your lips part and your voice sounds like home but the words you speak mean nothing, nothing at all. My heart constricts and my breath catches in my throat because how did we get here? You used to know me better than I knew myself but now... well now you don't know me at all. Your touch feels like a strangers and we have pushed and beaten, shoved and hurt eachother so much that this is it. This is who we are now, we stand at opposite ends of the battlefield both unwilling to drop our arms.
"And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Did'nt I my dear"
Mumford and Sons
And what had me so angry, what had pushed me so far past the fucking brink was not the obvious. You went behind my back and you brought that shit to my sisters house which had me appropriately angry, but it wasnt that- no. It was the fact that you had the audacity to threaten me. to completely ignore what I did for you when the leaves were yellow and brittle. I lied for you. I risked myself. I was ready and willing to step in front of the train for you. It was coming full force and I stood there strong arms braced, body still, lips sealed to save you from what you rightfully deserved. But after all of that you can throw such threats easily into my waiting face.
You wanted to talk and I wanted to attack. You wanted to cry and I wanted to shout. You wanted what I wanted two weeks ago but I said too little too late. "Follow me" you said and I dont know why but I did. Old habits die slow I suppose. But I knew. I knew this would be nothing but bad. And we sat there on that stoop and we turned in circles and spoke the same words and accusations and denial flew like garbage in the wind. In the end we left angry and defeated.
Who exactly is this dark haired man that sits before me? You don't look good that much I can say. Your skin looks gray and puffy bags beneath your eyes sit still atop your freckled cheeks. You look tired and troubled, hurt and beaten, stumbling and weak. Your brown eyes look the same as I remember them but the soul that hides deep behind- well that's nothing but strange and unfamiliar. Your lips part and your voice sounds like home but the words you speak mean nothing, nothing at all. My heart constricts and my breath catches in my throat because how did we get here? You used to know me better than I knew myself but now... well now you don't know me at all. Your touch feels like a strangers and we have pushed and beaten, shoved and hurt eachother so much that this is it. This is who we are now, we stand at opposite ends of the battlefield both unwilling to drop our arms.
"And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Did'nt I my dear"
Mumford and Sons
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