You make the first move
and I rise to meet you
The destruction we agree
is mutually assured

If this love is war
we're going nuclear

I refuse to sign the peace
treaty, to surrender my
lands to a man who's  history
rides nations in his eyes

You cannot coax me
out of my shell only
to crush me when I am
most vulnerable

I will not be an
innocent bystander
to your horrors

I will not allow you
to make my pain beautiful
It is not your canvas
to experiment on.

(You'll only throw
red at it anyway)

I'm tired of tiptoeing
around the subject
like it is a minefield

Eventually I will
bleed your intentions dry
bandage them with a kiss
and revel in their cries

I will tear apart the lies
deftly with nimble fingers
and your tongue will always
defy you, spitting fire
and carefully lodged bullets

Once your secrets flare
there will be no rescue party
to salvage what we had

Only our ashes shall remain
*embers of a past unspoken.

It hits in a spiritual, delirious way
the taste of blood is the only reminder
of how much I enjoy the pain

I crashed the car and I lived
I roamed the highway searching for your ghost
only to find it moved on long ago

We travelled 500 miles in this chase
for euphoria; the few signs on the way
urging us to follow separate paths

You're gone and I'm trapped
within this memory, a period of stasis
Cursing the alleged 'free road'
that brought us to this standstill.

(You never were one to take a risk,
always pausing to play it safe)

These selfish lights refuse to shift
throwing us back to different ends
of the spectrum once again

Yet I'm pulsing red, devilish hues
for you for you for you

If I could, I would crash all over again
But your lips are the only collision I need
and I was never one to wear a seat-belt

I wonder if like a storm you are
unaware of the damage you inflict.
Flooding these walls with screams,
shattering the fragility of our home.

I assume you are too caught up
within your own struggles to break free.
The wrath of your thoughts and those
calculating fingers rake your flesh.

Etching violent artistry's to your soulless
voids. Little needles which pin-***** at
the dark corners of your mind; awakening
the dormant cruelty sheltered within.

It is only through the cusp of night that
apologies emerge as you feign delicacy.
Your liquid skies fade to hellish hues as
you tell me not to lust after hurricanes.