You are a tea that is too hot.
At first, I tasted your sweetness from the one too many sugars
(that I put in you myself).
But then my brain caught up and told me you were burning me.
The problem, then, my dear, is that unlike how a tea would only burn my tongue
You burnt all of what you touched
(do not ask how I let myself be touched by you, and let my judgement be that bad
Just please understand I will never boil the kettle for you again).
You are a kiss of poison.
At first, your lips locked on mine and I didn’t notice the poison starting to flood my veins
(the ones you used to cut open).
But then, my heart, it stopped beating.
The problem, then, my love, is that you must have lied to me again for
You are not the anecdote you promised
(but the origin of death, destroying my body and my mind despite the constant
Pinkie promises assuring me you could never destroy me like you did)
You are a phone call that I don’t want.
At first, it was all that I wanted – ignoring the fact that you slashed me open
(physically and mentally).
But then my mind gained its sanity and you became my worst fear.
The problem, then, my sweetheart, is that despite my worst efforts
You are still a predator
(both me and the world are your pray, for you break everything you touch
Without a thought for the fragile or anything else that isn’t yourself).