i exist [as the definition of nonexistence]

killers make my heart race, and so do you.

I want to push you against a wall, do terrible things to you, leave you breathless and wanting more, more, more.

No, you don't. You want to make me blush between aisles at the bookstore and bring me roses because you know they're my favorite. You want to cuddle with me in the sun like we're cats and make me my favorite tea-- chai, you should know. You want to make homemade meals and meet my dad and take me to a park so we can walk for hours and then you can kiss me when I'm all grumpy and sweaty.

No. I want to punch your mirror so that you see every ruined version of yourself. I want to leave bruises up your neck that everyone will see because I know you won't hide them. I want to slice you open and sew you back together all wrong.

You want to sing Disney songs in the shower as you wash my hair and you want to hear me laugh because it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. You want to hold me at three in the morning when I'm crying about existentialism and you'll call me a huge dork for it but that's okay because you like protecting me

No! I want to make you fall in love with me and then break your heart because I'm a disaster, I'm a storm, you could do better, but you don't, you don't. Why?

Why?

Why won't you just let me break you?

Because I love you. Is it so hard to believe that I want to be the one to make you whole again.

I want to own you.

You want to be loved.

I want to kiss you until your lips are raw.

Why can't you have both?

Both?

Both. You can pin me to the wall and wear flower crowns with me. You can teach me how to throw knives and we can make a cake together. You don't have to be the villain to get me to kiss you.