Crazy Things
I'm Gonna Tell You the Truth
"I love you," she whispers as he holds her in his strong arms. She is fragile and brittle. She is kind and gentle. No one but him sees her this way. He is her only one. The only one who cares, the only one that sees, the only one that knows.
He loves her also, and wants to speak his feelings aloud; wants to scream them from the top of his lungs until his throat bleeds. But sadly he cannot for he is nothing but a prisoner of love. He cannot wish away her pain, he cannot wipe away her tears, cannot fight away her fears. He can only stay a helpless witness to it all.
In this world of hate and spite even the closest of friends and lovers hold silent fear and betrayal somewhere deep inside themselves. Deep inside a locked vault in which they have swallowed the skeleton key that opens it and buried all evidence. Those friends do not trust, those loves do not feel. They only pretend for the sake of themselves. He knows this, he knows this all too well.
This is why cannot tell her, cannot help her, cannot save her. He watches as she breaks apart, falls to the floor in tears, grips her heart and begs him to love her back. But he cannot for sadly he is nothing but a prisoner of this crazy thing we call love.
It hurts him to see her in so much pain but knows now that holding her, helping her, calming her, does nothing but pull them both deeper into the whirlpool of hate, despair, and love. It does nothing but put her under a temporary anesthetic and when it fades the pain is worse than before. Every time he looks to her, every time he smiles for her, every time he speaks with her, it slices deeper into them both.
A blade called lust and a salt called comfort are there to put them under a false sense of security in this world of war and fake peace, then rip at them and pour over their wounds. They are there to make the multiple wounds on all hearts both old and new, fester and bleed. He knows them well, they are his closet friends. She runs from them and hides from them, begs him to make them stop. But sadly he cannot for he is nothing but a prisoner of this deadly thing we call love.
In the end this is what it all comes down to. Two lovers that cannot love. One who watches as the other spirals down into the depths of despair and up into the heights of the afterlife. The lover left behind wishes to follow. But sadly they cannot for they are nothing but a prisoner of this beautifully tragic thing we call love.
He loves her also, and wants to speak his feelings aloud; wants to scream them from the top of his lungs until his throat bleeds. But sadly he cannot for he is nothing but a prisoner of love. He cannot wish away her pain, he cannot wipe away her tears, cannot fight away her fears. He can only stay a helpless witness to it all.
In this world of hate and spite even the closest of friends and lovers hold silent fear and betrayal somewhere deep inside themselves. Deep inside a locked vault in which they have swallowed the skeleton key that opens it and buried all evidence. Those friends do not trust, those loves do not feel. They only pretend for the sake of themselves. He knows this, he knows this all too well.
This is why cannot tell her, cannot help her, cannot save her. He watches as she breaks apart, falls to the floor in tears, grips her heart and begs him to love her back. But he cannot for sadly he is nothing but a prisoner of this crazy thing we call love.
It hurts him to see her in so much pain but knows now that holding her, helping her, calming her, does nothing but pull them both deeper into the whirlpool of hate, despair, and love. It does nothing but put her under a temporary anesthetic and when it fades the pain is worse than before. Every time he looks to her, every time he smiles for her, every time he speaks with her, it slices deeper into them both.
A blade called lust and a salt called comfort are there to put them under a false sense of security in this world of war and fake peace, then rip at them and pour over their wounds. They are there to make the multiple wounds on all hearts both old and new, fester and bleed. He knows them well, they are his closet friends. She runs from them and hides from them, begs him to make them stop. But sadly he cannot for he is nothing but a prisoner of this deadly thing we call love.
In the end this is what it all comes down to. Two lovers that cannot love. One who watches as the other spirals down into the depths of despair and up into the heights of the afterlife. The lover left behind wishes to follow. But sadly they cannot for they are nothing but a prisoner of this beautifully tragic thing we call love.
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this while listening to 'Prisoner Of Love' by Utada Hikaru which is what inspired many of the lines. I hope you enjoyed it and I would love it if you commented.