I'm content to your lies, even though they burn with passion. I'm subject to your attention though it troubles me so. I crave the thought of you but despise your intention. I''m paranoid about your arrogance, yet I come back for more. This is a learning experience, or so I tell myself. This isn't the first time I've played with fire. Truth is, I'm attracted to its burn. I wake myself up every morning to cry myself to sleep. The whimpers ease my polluted mind to its dreaming state of a hopeless joy. And I still can not restrain myself from your hold. Rather my own hold, the hold that my stubborn heart has taken over my mind, my reality, my everything, my nothing. Your stare leaves me speechless without words that ever existed in the first place. I'm perceived as naive. But this statement of false accusations will prove you wrong.