Wide Awake, But It's Not Morning

I'm wide awake
But it's not morning
My eyes flutter wide
Infused with the knowledge of nothing
Destiny is a mind fuck
and still, my eyes dance from object to silly object
Reliving the memories of when the gifts were given
Birthdays and Christmas
Make ups and break ups
Simple gestures from a simple man
At a simple time in my life

I draw back the sheets
Pink and black
Bruised
To match the mismatched turmoil that echoes within my skull
Is he different, is he different.
Has he really changed ?
Or am I sleeping with a liar whose got nothing left to lie about.

Breath comes swiftly on a white trash sofa
Nestled on the rain soaked balcony
Over looking my white washed worl
This is my reality
This is who I am
The constant questioner
Just call me Carrie Bradshaw
As I question my lover to the door he is sure to run for

Love ? Sex ? Passion ? Trust ? Can you have all four at once ?
Can sanity and happiness truly co-exist ?
Or are we playing ourselves
While blaming others for the role of the dice

No love is ever
Undemanding
You can pretend if you like
Sleep soundly on your bed of tangerine chiffone
While I toss and turn on cheap cotton sheets
Waiting for the day to come
When your lips go to meet mine
And not the other way around
Beauty breeds chaos
And I'm simply a good disaster