Every time I get a taste of your love the aftermath inflames my chest like heartburn. And I know loving you shouldn’t physically hurt, especially when it already mentally feels as if you could you would bury me so deep into the dirt, that you could regrow me into someone else.
But the seeds you plant or full of attentional greed and yet you get mad when I turn into a ****,
I’m sorry that you feel the uncontrollable need
to fix me but my steams were weak when you met me.
They’ll be the same when you leave me.