They can all sit and rot, 
trying to tell me that I am  
what I am not. 

Shut me out;  
I see all of these bridges they built
burning down to the ground in my thoughts. 

Shut your mouth; 
my cup of coffee accompanied 
by the authors of every petty plot. 

Close my eyes; 
your smirk is still a picture 
that's been permanently etched beneath my eyelids.  

I know I can't forget
and so I don't try it. 
Stranded on a glass island, 
in solitude I can imagine (What's waiting there?) 
what lies behind your iris. (What's waiting there?) 

Tongues dripping with violence, 
your cherry blossom breath 
seeps like cyanide, 
perfume my skin.  

And I hear your whisper, 
"Will you let me in?" 
and this is my answer, 
"The door's been wide open, 
when can we begin?"