Just a Degree Off Target

My job was to give you passion, so maybe if you didn't choose me, then you would choose someone better than me.

God made me a bitch. I'll bark.

But you wouldn't have to do a thing for me. I always thought even on your worst day you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain..." Proverbs 31:30

I might actually leave you alone now. So you can be "happy" or whatever.
All I have to do is get rid of these dang thoughts. They don't go so easily.

And the desperate says,

"Did you keep my drawing of you? Or any of my cards?
Or letters?"

I've always had a feeling you are a lot more starry-eyed than you put on, and just as time passes by, it starts to show.
I always bet on it.
You're tough, I love it. It's cute because I see right past it.
You know, you have to be open to someone. Most everyone else just gets a veil.

What did you do to me, you God-forsaken creature of light!

I skinned my arm just getting excited to hear from you. You know, I could really do this kind of stuff all the time.

Queen of the Night,
bloom once a year, and for the rest stay distant and detached.

Your blood is my blood.
You get red in the cheeks, and my wrist is slit to the bone.

In my wildest imagination, I couldn't have thought of a better reason to die
than your existence apart from me.

This Pinocchio's grown his nose making gambles on your loving my soul,
but a wooden man is hollow inside.
He could never take your beatings.
You'd break his wooden heart.
You did.

And I suppose the greatest ache is I'm not real.
I'm a programmed motherfucker
twisted by strings of a lonely cherub
who was the only one in pure little heaven who saw me engaged to you.

But, but, but I digress.
I digress all the time.
They squashed my Jiminy Cricket like a fly.
I have no cents.
What you have done to me would take a devil to understand.