You stopped saying good night and I stopped sleeping

Her.

She had looked at me once, or was she looking through me? It was like her gaze had remained somewhere behind my eyes. I kept seeing her, in the halls, in the walls, in my nightmares and in my peace. She was everywhere, she was everything, she was the devils smile.

Her smile, pink frosting on a talwaar like blood on a butter knife. Mischief glazed with icing, wicked dipped in honey and her eyes, a war you wouldn't mind dying in. She danced while the world burned, barely noticing that it's even burning. She walked like she carried the whole world on her shoulders and couldn't care less if it fell.

She said "I love you" as if she was cursing at you and loving her was like breathing with a knife to your throat, while her love could make even thorns blossom. And your heart, so full of her that you could hardly call it your own, turning you into just a shadow of a man. She feeds off of darkness like an antidote, but when she looks at you, a dark place deep within you gets lit with fire. Fire, yes, her hair, as if the flames of hell themselves had raised for being her light, for being your apricity.

How could someone shaped by hate ever love, how could so much hatred ever be loved. As if you couldn't find anything to kill yourself with, so you chose to love her. Licking love off of knives when it wasn't fed to you on silver spoons. What are you eating and what's eating you, do you love her or is she just feeding you.