It doesn't whisper sweet promises without consequence. It doesn't heal without leaving scars. Love is raw, feral, and utterly consuming-a wildfire that takes, burns, and never asks for permission.

It lingers in stolen glances, where desire bleeds into obsession. It thrives in whispered threats, where need is laced with venom and surrender is the only choice. It binds itself to the heart, a shadow that refuses to loosen its grip, no matter how much you fight.

Because love is ruin. It is dark. It is dangerous. It is the hands that hold you too tight, the voice that murmurs your name like a curse and a prayer all at once. It demands sacrifice, stripping you bare until nothing remains but devotion-fragile, monstrous, beautiful.

Love is the poison you swallow willingly, knowing it will wreck you. It is the storm that never fades, the ache that never quiets. It will unravel you, break you, and remake you into something unrecognizable. And yet, you will crave it. You will chase it. You will choose it over and over again.

Because love was never meant to be safe. It was always meant to consume.