Palet

'Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay. Why don't you be the writer, and decide the words I say?' - Ellie Goulding

Tell me, trust me. Or are they secrets, your standards..

Did I meet them only those two nights. What more do you ask,

you prefer me to chance forgetting what you say to me,

do you not speak truths? Is that it? Or is it that you fear,

you run, as I do, from everything you feel?

I guess I'm not in a position to accuse then. You could have helped me through.

I would have done it for you. Like I said I never would, I would've changed for you.

So control my every move, drink me to my death so I won't recall your perfect words.

They flow from your lips. queer romancing she inside dies for. While you stole every emotion,

those. Yes I do not really regret saying to you. But why should I tell you that,

maybe next time you won't rip it out from under her feet. You won't control me as I once imagined love to be. You can crush down that image, that picture you painted.

No where near, was it to the standard that you have made it out to be required.

You do it to yourself, my love. My love, 

my love...