I grip tight.

The air in my lungs is forced out by the intruders that slip off your tongue.

A thin layer of glass, fragile and ready to shatter on your command, I am.

Suffocating from suspense, wishing to pour my genuine thoughts out for you to drink so you could feel their warmth and truth in your empty stomach.

My eyes water and my face burns.

I want to pull my insides out so you know how empty I am without you.

I'm dead and I don't even know it yet.

That venomous phrase flows from my thoughts and into my veins; burning and tainting my heart.

This is all my fault, it always is.

My last meal is your breath as I inhale you in and kiss your lips for one last taste of love.