When I see myself, I see a hollow heart. A heart that’s tired of bleeding, pouring out all the time and giving only to get no sign of reciprocation.
When you see me, you see a toy. A toy that shines in the dark, and begs to be played with.
We meet in the dark, always. Apparently, no version of us exists in the daylight. But your arms come alive with the moon, and I lay still, dead. I’m inanimate anyway.
We don’t talk; no words are ever exchanged. A toy with emotions isn’t really a fantasy now, is it?
The hollow heart within pounds, as a reminder that I’m alive, and real. The voice inside wants to scream, but it can barely form a whisper.
Sometimes I wish you’d stay until the morning, maybe even spend the day. Sometimes I wish you’d just see me, then instantly know I’m real.
Because I am. And I want something real. With you.
The silence is maddening, it’s the kind of silence that resonates, the kind that drives you insane. The darkness is so intense, the kind that consumes us entirely.
For once, can we see what we could be? Can we turn on the lights? For once, can we just talk? Can we bare our souls, before our bodies?
You stumble in; I let you in, always. When you hold me, you make me feel wanted and when you leave, I realize you just wanted someone to play with.
I know I’m not a toy. I can’t help but feel as if I’m trapped inside one. And I don’t blame you, toys are meant to played with.
The broken toy and the player. Oh, aren’t we a perfect match?