When i'm with him it's like my ribs are being bent back and inside out like paper clips. When he cradles my face to kiss my mouth, it feels like my skull's being peeled back like an orange and he's trying to get inside of my thoughts and pick them open like pulp. When he kisses me, it's like he's sharing his deepest secrets with me, like i'm the only person with hollow lungs to fill; but his secrets are like smoke and they fill me like i'm a chimney. I feel so heavy when i'm with him, like he's put lead inside my veins and dropped me in the ocean. He doesn't understand that my ribs are made of steel and concrete, and my skull's made of galaxies with stars full of incomprehensible universes. My lungs are not hollow; they're full of tissue, and fibres and they're pink with blood and lust for oxygen; i am no one's chimney. And no, my veins are not buoyant; but drop me in the ocean and i'll sink like a submarine. There was a time when i found his painful affection unique and wonderful, like a glass of *****. but he's been killing me like rubbing alcohol instead.
Darling, i seem to have realized that dying is more fun when you do it with someone you love; and i do not love you.