you caught me lingering in another girl's paradise the way she paints the world -- I want that in my life

It's almost tragic.
Perception shapes reality, but for the dead honest, what can they say?
Or is what they have simply another manifestation of a desire to believe?
No matter how tragic.

Emeralds, you should know, are renting in her meadow with a stroke beauty lives how could I resist? You are Desire.

"She's the colour of a magazine... she's in fashion"

Desire, the doorway to delusion or despair. It's a doubled edged sword.

through twists and turns Jasmine foxed me in her grove arms filled with Honey-bells, St Michaels Sanford Bloods

And the lies that we're fed of contentment and joy.
From both sides of our wretched amphibian humanity,
"because those binary opposites are an integral part of yourself. To give any of those things up would be to kill a part of yourself"
The promises we run from for fear of falling...

... haven't i heard this before? In the year where perceived reality evaporated like mist in the morning?
Some lonely morning by the beach, waiting on the porch by the locked door of a blue and white building, branded with a silver cross... the call of the cradle, the hand of exile.
Some say we have healed, others refuse to leave the "pity parties"
So we twist and turn and run.

"you have come to discover what you want" what I want is not to want what isn't mine "But I am Desire"

As much as you are delusion and despair.

And if not wanting what isn't mine, isn't mine to have, All I'm left with, is desire, delusion and despair.

when it all is said and done who can love you and still be standing?

Who? The last one isn't here anymore. In every. sense. of the word.

there's Mary calling up a storm...

"Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenced our steeples, drowned the cocks!
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head; and thou all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th'world,
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once
That makes ingrateful man"

Pathetic fallacy.

can I take from you and not keep taking?

Obviously not. Watch, wait, give and see.
Even givers get tired of giving, and what do you do when you tire of your own nature? When being who you are wears you out?
Where, exactly, do you go?

naked as day Gemma follows him...

"Down from the waist they're centaurs,
Though women all above.
But to the girdle do the gods inherit
Beneath is all the fiend's"

Does it all come down to the thing one girl fears in the night?

Yes it does.
To lie awake in frustration, clawing at your very being.
To have realisation pound upon your body...
To make real the perception and belief that you're lost, fading and fast becoming nothing but a heap of ugliness.
To fear the mirror, to fear the world outside the bed, and within.
To be losing. Constantly.

is another girl's paradise...