Foolish Little Girl

Let’s put voyeurism to shame and silently watch one another asphyxiate while the other isn’t looking, and for once I’ll finally give into the warped role play.
I watch trains at night, their wheels spinning like long forgotten clocks on cubicle walls.
I try to get away from the lucid nightmares conjured by my sweet—turned—sour Lolita pipedream;
but my means of coping have proved to be old escape route, closed off and forgotten.
Bordered up and devastated without remorse; only a few traces of graffiti as evidence of what was.
It’s a sign of the times.
Do the holes in your hands make you feel any better about the hole in your head?
A-void infinite vacuum soul suck (turn off and unplug)
Does filling the hole in between your legs make you feel whole?
You’re just foisting a bed of forget—me—not’s and thorned roses.
I was not yet aware of being part of this circus but the constant focus is on you under a spotlight and it’s become quite clear that you’re the main attraction.
You’re childhood innocence had me bound like a bundle of tightly bound bricks;
carelessly tossed to the bottom of a well that I c o u l d n o t l o o k u p f r o m.
Well worn but function doubtful; dubbed utterly useless.
Little girl’s small hopes bring about large problems that go unsolved.
And as fixation came to possess you to the point of delirium you dared to call it adoration.
You only ended up puppeting me under that guise;
you haven’t changed at all, you still strain to call it “love”;
you’re a foolish little girl.