And I sat in a crowded room, waiting for my breath to cloud from the ice coating your shoulder. I never wanted to be your little bag of tricks, following behind you and picking up your ticks and causing your emotions to mix--
I held my world in a gold jar, watching the particles of my lost destination orbit and form the clouds of what I call my imagination. I sat on the summit of my mountain, striking down angels and laughing as they plummit--
Into the ground, picking themselves up and seeing that they've lost their wings of protection, their sense of voice losing it's projection.
I sat in my throne of contented darkness, the world- yes the world- falling into itself as I formed a black hole of what ifs and whens.
And that's when the mirror would crack, the images would twist and play the tricks of making a stranger appear in the reflection--
The world wasn't my own problem anymore, not when there was an enemy staring back at my fucking face, not when the stranger could put any time and any place on my own self hatred. Not when my memories were my own attacks, and not when your voice was ringin' in my ear, tellin' me all of the shit I never thought I'd hear.
So I sit on my mountain, and I wait for the chance to strike you down. I'll wait for the time and place, I'll wait till you're staring me right in the face and I'll tell you that my secrets aren't yours anymore, they aren't your defense and they'll never be your offense.
