I sit utop the grassy hill
and pick silently at my jeans
I wish for you to come at my own will
But maybe you won't, it seems.
Finally, you come for me,
An empty smile on your face.
You look much too pale, I see
And just as soft as lace
Without a word I touch your cheek
And it ruins under my hands
You are not the one I seek
This was not according to my plans.
I pull at your skin,
Seeing shadows underneath.
I gasp against the cool winter wind,
And force myself to breathe.
I frantically rip your skin away,
Looking for the real you.
I suddenly realise I shoul stay at bay,
And I should have taken the clue.
For it has always been you under the paper,
Hiding yourself...
....From me?
