damn the sorrow filled realization that it is the idea of me that boys fall for.
boys waiting in lines to shatter the dreams I cling to.
it is neither my sad brown eyes or white teeth smile they long for.
it is never the coursing blood nor beating heart.
it is not the soft flesh or brittle bones.
not the pure molten marrow nor the freedom of my lips.
they clamor in subtlety to destroy the simple idea of this broken and forsaken soul.
fall fast to grasp and destroy
this humble and hopeful heart.
it is not me they fall for in bitter winter
it is the idea of me that they seek
a hollow mystery
they long to crush.
to possess that which they cannot have
and to burn it all to ashes.
and yet I cannot stop
baby doll wants to break your heart.