I remember slightly and slowly how you touched me,
and how when I was there it was different,
I would let myself believe the things you said because it felt good,
it felt like being high or someone else.
I know now the difference between your words and reality,
but you are like a drug,
I can stop whenever I want to,
and I don't want to yet.
NO, I said I could stop,
you can't stop,
I will have my way and you will like it,
I can't help stomping my foot like a child what am I suppose to do?
Tell me please it would be so much easier,
tell me why you wouldn't touch me when I was angry,
why you wouldn't let me believe you were using me,
I could have stopped then,
don't you see,
I could have stopped letting you have your way if I thought I was nothing to you,
but you won't let me.
I hate the dramatics of it all,
but they are here aren't they,
they serve their purpose,
and when I wake up,
still groggy from my dream of you,
the details running harder and faster away than my mind can chase them,
I'll need you then,
but of course you won't be with me.
