Your words on display
Like open wounds, bleeding out all the hurt and understanding
That is inside of you, flowing through your veins
Turning your blood to embalming liquid, leaving you dead
To the world, to this life, they truly don't deserve you.

The subtleties of life and living
Are lost in them, those blank page faces
And those mirror eyes, reflecting what they want to see
But I'm sick of it, this painstakingly monotonous life
With little show of feeling, but you, this iconoclast
You disturb everything, their neat little perception of true beauty
You're like nothing I've ever seen, and you're perfect.

Patience burning up like tissue paper, how I want to form the words upon my lips
Find the eloquence to express what is so easily lost in translation
These feelings so painfully ebbing away at me, lost in my fingertips
Lost in the inkwell, hiding among the black in sheer embarrassment
At their simplicity, because nothing could ever describe you
A true impossibility.

I often wonder about the greater scheme
And what the hell gives our lives meaning, and I've determined that it all comes down to the nerve endings
That give these eyes sight, that give these eyes a chance to look upon someone like you.
Could it really be that simple?
I don't know, but the only thing I do understand is that you should never let them laugh
A cruel sort of laughter that they bite their tongues to suppress, that false civility
That breaks your heart, that leaves you for dead, they truly don't deserve you.