delusional daydream.
I'll sleep with the lights on.
It makes crying feel so good.
Like an old best friend that's now an awkward,
still-painting - you pass in the hallways after math.
In a cave made of sheets.
Let me lay underneath.
Body heat. Sweat and sweet.
What a mantra to believe.
And you enjoy lying, because you get caught.
Well lies are no fun if they're believed.
You're a demon; such an angel.
They think that I'm the one.
That believes I am the one.
The one that they've been waiting on.
I am justified.
I am the starter.
I enjoy telling lies, because they're pure gold in your eyes.
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