I should come with a ******* warning label, cautioning others about my tendencies toward self-destruction, and warning them of the consequences of choosing to get too attached to the inevitable time bomb of me.
I try to warn them away, but they don't listen, or they brush it off as nonsense.
"You shouldn't love me," I say, eyes deep with grief because I know the truth of the words.
But nobody heeds my ******* warnings, so I'm left stepping over the remains of us, having to live with the knowledge of what I've done.
******, I tried to tell you. But no one ever listens, they refuse to believe.
And in the end I'm left having to watch you shatter, knowing I'm the cause. I tried to warn you. You should've listened.