Manic Pixie Dream Girl

Manic pixie dream girl. I am your

Manic.

Pixie.

Dream girl.

I’ll chop all of my hair off with the broken, shattered, sharp pieces of my own broken, shattered, sharp self.

I’ll choose an ugly colour and I’ll paint my hair with it. Paint my soul with it.

Loud is my laughter, quiet are my tears.

You’ll spill your guts to me and I’ll taste of them and I’ll assure you that their flavour is

Just.

Fine.

You’ll ask me to share with you

The new.

The different.

The scary.

And.

I.

Will.

You’ll breathe in the sweet perfume

Of mischief.

Of near death experiences.

Of nights spent dancing on the grave

Of normalcy.

Of safety.

Of monotony.

And when it’s over, the scent will stick to you like cigarette smoke to clean, misguided lungs.

I will be your

Manic.

Pixie.

Dream girl.

Are you having an internal crisis, baby?

Let me be your medicine.

Swallow me up.

Enjoy me with a spoonful of sugar to sweeten my bitter taste.

Take me as you need me and only as you need me.

I exist to make you feel better.

To show you what you don’t want.

I’ll be the personification of your naked

Temptations.

Curiosities.

Inner chaos.

What you see is what you get because what you see is all I am.

You’re getting spring?

I’ll be your fall.

And you WILL fall.

Hard.

If you’re not burning for me, you’ll be freezing to death.

I’ll give and you’ll take

And when you’re done.

When you’ve finished.

You’ll put your clothes back on.

I’ll straighten your tie.

You’ll walk away for good.

And I will run my fingertips through the mess.

And I will put my fingers in my mouth.

And I will hold tight to the taste of you.

Until I am called away to clean up

Another mess.

Another conflict.

Another crisis.

Another you.

And rinse.

And repeat:

Manic pixie dream girl. I am your

Manic.

Pixie.

Dream girl.