Written age 15.
You say the word, I stammer soft wont give myself away.
It's your eyes... your glinting eyes,
well more fool you for believing in me.
I cant remove myself now.
You paint, pretend its real, as you touch skin and say
The word, you say the word and I'm too tired.
So I stand, I sit, I wait. So you'll want, need, displace me again.
I'll whisper the word, convince myself, but we understand.
The word you whisper, the word you'd never shout in case someone heard
A word I'll lose myself to, It will permeate.