Manipulative and self-obsessed

All I want to talk about is you

—

dear sir there’s something too true

i can’t quite put to words

brightest reds and deepest blues

they all come back for thirds

—

you seem to look right through me

lost in magic on the other side

apathetic to the point of poetry

delicate dance upon the blade of a knife

—

dance, dance out of those shadows,

that prison, that church, your mind

dance, dance into the twilight, and tell me that you’re mine