What are you waiting for?
A spear to your heart with the tip soaked in my poison?
Deliverance of an an ointment that covers the wounds you committed?
Piece together your pieces that you’ve scrambled to make you more interesting?
That’s not my fault that you’re so pinteresting.
If you thought that your actions are your own and praised the disagreement between us was a blessing then you wouldn’t be so incessant on finding love. Cause you’re as toxic as the proximity of a bomb that is stepped upon in a community of thugs. Telling you to risk your life so they may go home to their love.