Rayn "What's up baby girl?!" And if I said "I love you baby Doll!" Would you love me back? Say yes and I will cry, say no and I do the same. I cry both for wanting of trust and choosing to lack there of. Does it disgust you and make you think ill of me? Well, then I do try to rid my self of you then. Know me faithfully, and you will know as well that I am not capable of such things as to forget one as you. Continue to play games and take a jewel as my self for granted and we'll see just who laughs in the end! I stand above and before you. You are writhing at my feet. I'm in great want to help you. But I am remembering what once was and though I push you down, my hand goes out simultaneously to help you up. Now, I am weak and disgust myself. If I judge my self, and think ill, still, it gives you no such place to kick me. I asked not of your opinion and still I do not long for it or in any place care to hear it. Be gone with your nasty thoughts of me. A PUSH OVER!! I know that is how you choose to put me into a word. You are so deeply wrong though! Trustworthy. VEX. You are aggravating. Worse, demeaning to that I call my own. Be careful. I can take your life into my hands and still be so secure with my secretiveness that I'm nary scarce to shake and drop it. Some times I wish I would though. How I can loathe you so. And that I care not to want. But I'm ill respected. I will do the same to you. A gentle flower that i am, but the rose, beseech all the lilacs and prick you with a thorn! I am the rose. Your subjects, as they appear, bending to your will, are the lilacs. Beautiful but grotesquely weak and delicate. Brush them wrong and they wilt. A rose, as I, is still beauteous at all, I am inside, but tough to draw blood from your lilac withered finger. Your blood is cold and I look down at you. Your lilac garden is decomposing. What now? Weeds will grow and strangle you. How proud I recall you were of that garden. And you looked at me and laughed. I with my one rose. Winter falls upon it. Still it is blood red and awesome beneath the warm snow. Do you still jest at me and think me weak? Who now? You lie in the snow. Dead weeds around your throat.