A Cliché.

I wish that I could squish you;
You're too much of a mosquito for me,
And I'm tired of hearing you whine.

I'd flick you off of my heart,
The one that you sucked dry,
So you'd be dead,
Dead as a doornail,
Dead as the fly on my windowsill.

Still, you'd find a way to weasel
Your way back into my life,
Just to make it Hell--
Twitching, itching and kissing
My sore and sagging heart.

Life's like a bowl of cherries,
Except you've ate them all, and left none
For me. The bowl tips and shatters, and
I'm scrambling, trying to make lemonade
Out of dry, juiceless lemons.

I can't stand the taste of them, or
The sight of you.

I hope you choke on those cherry pits.

I'm too much of a lion, for your lamb-ish tastes,
I suppose. Always content, and relaxed, you are,
Never trying to understand the side with the
Golden mane.

You irk me, in all the wrong places, and
This lion will surely never lie down with a lamb, as long
As you're the one wearing the sheep's ears.

Opposites attract; how terrible of an expression.
Opposing forces make better enemies than friends,
And definitely not star-crossed lovers.
No yin-yang symbology for me, thank you very much.
I'm much rather punch you in the throat, just to stop
Those meaningless words that screech and moan--

They make me sick.

But I cannot, for I am a lady of the court of society.
I am the victim, your friends are the jury and you,
Why, you're the slimy backwoods judge who doesn't
Comprehend simple mathematics.

Or, are you a chivalrous man, who tries to convince me that
I'm much better off with you, than stuck inside all day, writing.
You don't understand me, good sir.
You know nothing of my dreams.

You don't know me.

But you, you're truly an enigma wrapped inside
A Riddle, warped by
Theology and you're own
Biased Theories.
You're head's gotten so thick, that I want to scream,

"Who the fuck are you?"

But you cannot hear me, my klutzy knight,
Wrapped in tin-foil.
For your choking on cotton,
That's wrapped around your ears,
Wrapping you in sweet bliss,

While you snack on those
Moldy chocolates in a box, the
Ones that were mine, the
Ones that you stole
From me.

You threw the wrappers at my feet, and
I just want to laugh.

"We aren't in fucking Rome, anymore."

So, if you would,
Please don't deal those cards again.
Don't pretend to break a leg,
Just to get the attention that you crave.

Because trust me,
Nobody is watching you
Flaunt yourself, like you've got something
To gain, when really,
It's all your loss.

I'm perfectly happy pointing out that
You are a cliché, and that I'm finally through with


Author's Note.

:) Just an idea that popped into my head last night at like 1:30. (Why does anything good always wait until I'm trying to sleep to appear? *shakes fist* Darn Muse!)

Tell me whatcha think! :) I quite liked this idea, myself. :P I tried not to curse so much... But it was hard! Lol. I was angry when I wrote this, so I toned it down a bit. ;)

~AvidWriter-92. :D

All works: © AvidWriter-92. Fictionpress User I.D. 717443. 2010.