don't say you love me if you aren't willing to drop everything,
not just your underwear.
don't say you love me if you aren't willing to fuck me and hug me.
Don't say you love me,
i can see the crimson red on your walls,
and the grazes of blood smeared on your door.
The flames are rising from your skin,
did you pour the gasoline?
because i can't remember if i gave you that fuel.
But now the blood smeared on the door isn't yours,
and the blood's on my face.
How did it get here?
Am i the one bleeding?
You're on fire from spilled gasoline and my face is sliced.
But i still don't understand who gave the fuel to you.
i closed the container last time it spilled,
Did you open it again?
Do i have to put it out again?
Like the few times before?
It used to be an accident.
How do i tighten the lid?
Your fire is burning and infecting me,
am i to blame?
i should've put the fire out instead of allowing to maul me.
Now what do I tell the cops when our house is on fire?
YOU ARE READING
Kalopsia.
Thơ caKalopsia • Noun ; The state in which everyone and everything looks beautiful. ✧一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 and here the words will bleed onto the page of each separate chapter in my mind, and the words will fall so effortlessly out of my eyes. 一 一一 一一...
