And Me...

Jealously I Write

Her words are perfect.

Her execution of poetical brilliance- divine.

And I hate that my heart hurts

While I'm watching her shine;

If I am a car, my engine is dying.

I've got no fuel to drive with,

while she soothes and shocks and pulls sway with-

and only with her words!

The fussiest baby couldn't even cry

While listening to her prophesize

and in that same breath, tell you all about life

in one mere line of melody!

That would take me dozens of lines and not even considering clarity!

She could make, even, Hades hide

While reciting a line of her views on death and war.

He would probably even crack a smile later and decide

that in comparison to Persephone, he likes her more.

And have I mentioned the sensations?

The truly bitter angers, the sweetly sad frustrations?

The tear that almost falls from your eye or the lightness that fills your heart?

The "Yes this world is weary" sigh? The righteous starts?

And I hate that my heart hurts

While I'm watching her shine;

If I am a bird, my wings are not flying.

And I think it's maybe those thoughts of "Why can't I?"

But then I realize that he was totally right. I have no empathy.

I'm merely darkness imitating light.

It's all so hard for me to be happy for her because I've been believing in a lie.

Jealously I write.