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You called it love, that poison that you gently smeared around your lips And gently, as soft as you could, touched mine with, Waiting for me to suck every inch of it off you, So that I could suffer an excruciatingly long and gruesome death, Yet to you that was Love. You curved out every part off me nothing but a spike in your hand and a smile on your face, From the moment that I touched you, my soul began to deteriorate. Just like water being sucked out of a flower, The life in me began to wither, And I slowly I became a walking corpse, harboring about the earth to serve no purpose, But to endure your diabolic portrayal of what you called love. You hurt my heart to a point where it couldn’t hurt no more, The pain cut straight to my soul, taking whatever bit of light, A hope for better tomorrow that I had left within me, Leaving me at the unforgiving mercy of the dark, To suffer so that you may rejoice. The slightest amount of joy I had left turned to dust just cause you choose to love me. See I should have listened to those who knew better, When they said Love would be my demise, When they told me that, With great joy, comes unbearable hurt. I thought you really loved me but you just wanted to use me, Destroy me and turn me into and exhibition, Your deadly soft touch scorned me; your smooth words chocked me, You’re warm hugs that crushed me, and your sweet kisses that slowly killed me, But none of this I care about, Because you told me it was love, your love, and I fell for it.
