antoinette

You see his silhouette approaching you in this smoky place. You know what he wants. Not you. He wants any girl. You play along, but you turn to face the blinding flashes of green and white so that you can't see his face. In order to prevent yourself from falling into the trap, you must not recognise him. Must not make eye contact. You're just a toy, and he's just a silhouette.

A breath away from you, chuckles, whispers something incoherent, you don't want to hear. You smile, but you never look at his face. You concentrate on the deafening beats to drown out his voice; you don't want to recognise it, either. You both know what he wants. His hands slide onto your waist, brings your body closer. You look down, over his shoulder, close your eyes, but you never look at his face. Skin meets skin, you feel him hard. He's nothing but a silhouette, a mannequin maybe, a stranger you will never know and therefore can't love. That's how you guard your heart. He could be anybody, or nobody. The stranger has his hand on your neck now. You're laughing, your body's pressed against his. The stranger wants to take you out to the back. Yeah, you say. As long as it's dark and you can't see his face. His hand's in your hair, his head's against yours. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. You let your lips meet his, your tongue. Come and play me, stranger, because I don't know who you are, and I can't love you.