The 2 A.M Writer

Goddess Of The Well

She has eyes like diamonds

I\'ve got eyes that stitch themselves shut

She has the lips of a god

Mine of a horrid, bitter being

We both drink water

Her from golden glasses, mine from autumn leaves

So bruised from the wasted youth

She\'s so pure from inheritance

She\'s trying to unwrap my thorn covered branches

But I can\'t let her in

I can\'t let her down

I won\'t let her climb my rusted chains

She\'s not going to fall down where I am

...

I\'m nothing but a pile of wood

Use me so you can keep warm once

But snuff my flames so I may never catch your clothes