The girl I could've been

At 1 AM, I still look for her.
The girl I could've been,
the girl who writes in rhyme,
never works for a dime.

I read the signs and all I see
is a wretched soul who's out of luck.
The shadow of a train shudders me
every night, crashes into dreams
that will never bear sweet fruit.
My words are simply out of tune.
My hopes, crushed into lemon juice.
Invisible ink in the making.

And so he'll touch the paper
but never read my poetry,
never love me for this lunacy.
I'm a lost case without voice,
a siren without melody.
Merely a bitter tongue
covered in manipulation.

Yet he loves to kiss me.

But all praise her,
the girl I could've been.
Wrapped in the innocence of a scarf
and the sweetness of a swarm
that tails her through sadness.
She says she's lonely
and so, he, too, will chase her.
Enchanted by the sugar on her lips
and the honey of her voice.
It'll slip through his mouth, slowly
until he realises I'm not the girl
he loves to kiss.
I'm not the girl I could've been.

26-01-2016
1:18 AM