I don't how how this happened.
I mean I do, though.
It's because I'm a bad person.
And I care about you, to some degree.
I wish we could live our lives separately and come together when we needed.
But every time I end up pushing you away from me.
On the outside, you're the evil one.
The deeper you gaze, the more I look like the devil.
It's why I can't look you in the eyes for too long.
You handed me a pistol and it felt perfect in my hands.
It fit better than the flesh of any lover, better than leather.
You handed me a knife and I held it to my wrist.
I tested how sharp it was.
I thought about how beautiful it would be to kill myself in front of you.
You took it and called me a psycho.
You were right.
I wanted to die when you cuddled me.
Stop it, I said.
It's deadly, it's poisonous.
It spawns a natural reaction within me that only feels right to resist.
It's so unhealthy for me to feel the touch of love.
I wish you would just use me the way I use you.
