Scars

I care less for all the things you have going,
It's your scars I saw fleetingly that had me at hello
Longing to be acknowledged and loved ..
While like strangers in travesty, we grow to show each other our cuts and bruises.

What a wicked game you play,
‎To make me speak in rhyme this way,
What a wicked thing that you do,
To make me long for you.

I'm not fascinated by how you have it all together,
Now now, I can see through those rose-tinted shades honey-
And though you may ramble on about how sorted you keep it,
I long to hear how you bruised when you fell, just to pick yourself up and walk on your feet.

What a wicked game you play,
‎To make me speak in rhyme this way,
What a wicked thing that you do,
To make me long for you.

Hidden beneath coping mechanisms and captivating storytelling,
Is a battered soul who needs to see that travesty is best shared -
So whilst we're here entertaining our fascinations,
Indulge me and say you'd be willing to humor my madness for fleeting moments

What a wicked game you play,
‎To make me speak in rhyme this way,
What a wicked thing that you do,
To make me long for you.

All the world is a stage and we're the puppets tonight,
You have my strings and I have your cloak,
This tryst of ours, never could exchange fuzzy pleasantries
But by all means pull my strings and I will  push your buttons ...

What a wicked game you play,
‎To make me speak in rhyme this way,
What a wicked thing that you do,
To make me long for you.