My Hell is Blue
Maybe it’s wrong, that I crave this, crave this so much it’s eating me up inside.
Just like the silence that follows my words and that look on your face everytime I say it.
And I know perfectly well what will happen next - you will touch me and smile at me and reassure me there’s no one that can tear us apart.
That there’s nothing that can tear us apart.
And maybe your voice is just a little bit too soft.
And maybe your fingers are a little bit too cold.
And maybe your eyes betray you - even if just a little bit.
And although it’s hurting to look into them, I can’t tore my gaze away from these blue shining orbs.
I can see my own face reflected in them, I can see my weakness and the pleading look in my eyes that’s making me feel sick.
My hell is blue.
And then you’re going to kiss me, like always.
Not that kind of kiss, not what I want.
A kiss that should say: ”I’m here, no matter what. I care for you.”
A kiss that’s meant to soothe me.
A kiss that tastes nothing but shallow and does the opposite.
And then we will joke around, you will take me into your arms and dance with me and I will whisper: ”I want to be your Luise and you will be my Ferdinand” and you will laugh and say: “Romeo and Juliet aren’t enough for you, it has to be Schiller?” and that is when I realize that you’re not taking me seriously.
I want to be the one that throws the stones into your glasshouse, but I’m not, I never will be, it’s him.
So my breath will hitch a little and the tears inside my eyes will sting a little, but it’s okay, since I am used to it.
And there’s still this feeling of contentness when I notice I can make you feel something he can’t…
Regret.
