When The Blood Ran Black

Lover Girl

I am not the girl to fall in love in.

You will not want to kiss me, for I have knives for teeth
and when I finally let you go, your blood will rust them.
When we embrace, your body will be torn apart
with the mines stored inside each finger–
little bombs that explode at contact.
My tongue is a gun that will rain down an army
of bullets with orders to kill with no mercy.
Within my eyes holds an armory of weapons designed only
to maim—to kill—to torture.
My breath is poison that boils your flesh and causes insanity.
Listen closely,
for my mind is just an ocean of hate and sorrow that will trap you in its horror.
Don't make a sound,
because my ears crave screams of agony and you're a perfect volunteer.
The tears that fall from these orbs of hate are actually oil
that leaks from the machine of my heart.
Souls are designed to be light and beauty but mine was infected with a disease
called Death.

I am not the girl to fall in love with.
But I wish I was.