Please don't say you're in love with me unless you enjoy the thought of a twister swallowing you whole because that's exactly what I'll do. I am the literal embodiment of everything tragic and I'll pull you in and I'll suffocate you. I'll drain you and you won't mind because it doesn't feel like a monster, it feels like love. But it's not love. I am not love. I will destroy you from the inside out and then I'll make you feel bad about it. I am a parasite. I am disgusting. I feed off of people, I pick apart their very soul and then I use them as reincarnations in my writing without a second thought. I am the exact thing people are advised to avoid. You shouldn't be afraid of the monsters under your bed, you should be afraid of the humans like me. The ones who look at you and in a split second know, everything. The ones who know what to say and when to say it, we have bullets coming off of our lips but you think they are flowers, and you embrace every single one. You breathe in our soul, not realizing it's poison, no, because it tastes like the candy you used to love as a child but weren't allowed to have. People used to say "too much of something you love can kill you" but you never took them seriously, and look where you are now. You are sitting in a corner with cracked lips and shaky fingertips, struggling to breathe because you think you need me. I am long gone, on to my next victim, but the withdrawals of my absence are killing you. You are restless and sad, wondering why you weren't enough to satisfy my hunger. If only you knew, darling, that I am always starving. I am always on the brink of dying, so I need something, anything to expand my life span even a bit. You were never the one to silence the monster within me, you were simply a meal along the way and while you are drinking away the pain, another victim is already lying on my shoulder. I have eaten you alive, but you don't mind, you have convinced yourself it was your fault, and you cannot even begin to comprehend how much you miss the sense of your lips pressed against mine. You are sick and you think I am the cure. You have thrown yourself into a paradox you can't escape, because anytime I am thirsty I will come back and you will welcome me with open arms and say "it's been too long, it felt like home with you." You will embrace me, and the cycle will begin again with no warning. Your parents warned you about the drugs on the streets, but they never warned you about the ones with blue eyes and a heartbeat.
