[ Shaking his head, he drags hard ]

Shaking his head, he drags hard
on the fourteenth cigarette
he shouldn't have smoked today.
It's your words running through his head
that make him hate to dream.
Everything you wish he was you've told him,
though you thought you tried to hide it
you really wanted him to know
didn't you?
He wishes you'd never read that damn book,
hates how silly the thought seems
ringing in his ears.
He wishes you wouldn't wish
that he was a story,
an underdeveloped villain
masquerading as your love.
This ain't a fairytale, darlin-
wake up and smell the shit of real life
and be glad you've got a man,
real and whole
who loves you, who pines for your presence,
who would change every act of his life
for you
but who shouldn't have to.
Funny how you make him tolerate
your desire for the type of man
no one will ever be.
And he does take it in stride,
hoping you won't one day decide
to go looking for a red-eyed hero
to take his place.
Is it worth loving paper, ink and binding
to break his heart
with the knowledge that he's not truly yours,
that he can never measure up
to the perfect man you close your eyes
to picture him as?
Love him as he is, or not at all-
don't you think he deserves that?
A little clarity in the fog
you wrap around him,
is that too much to ask?
He'd tell you if he loved you less
than Juliet
but he'd never consider the possibility.
And it kills him that your heart
belongs to a pale-faced
fairytale Romeo,
when it used to be his.