Your Crafty Beguiling

I feel sick when you're not around.
Much like the way it feels when you are.
Lost in your head,
No trails leading out.
Two fiery hearts, connected to two twisted minds.
Splinters of color,
Flaring like orbs on the 4th of July.
You call me a coward,
But I'm far from it.
It takes a hero to deal with you.
Why? Cause you want it that way.
Spinning delirious like the art-boy smile.
The color slinks and slides from my eyes.
Retreating front lines to the back of my brain.
The competition, it whines and complains.
It pines and it shames,
Like raking your knuckles across the grains.
Stepping away,
And looking ahead.
Good Lord will you grant me
Peace from my head.
Cut the cord,
Don't tow the line,
The lie,
You and I,
As it always was,
Granted it was fun.
But the bed is getting cold,
And the idea of it all is getting old.
The staleness of your touch,
Matches the disinterest in your eyes,
Accompanied by the dullness of your voice,
I see that there's no other choice.
From the perspective of a wound,
Let me heal,
Let me rejoice in the moment surreal.
Give me apathy.
Give me release.
And for the sake of all resentment,
Please give me peace.