I hear you screaming,
   “THIS IS POISON!”

But you’re still drinking
    From the bottle.

He's viciously attractive
So I religiously ignore his backwards way of seeing things
And fall into his arms day after night
As if the floor itself inclined to the left and I could do nothing but slip closer and closer to his place
Where he'd always be waiting for me
With a warm arm open and a cigar between his lips

Deep inside, and petrified,
Within my soul is cyanide,
Sitting, waiting patiently
For chances to escape from me.
For this reason it seems decent,
Fit to logic, moral reason,
That I keep my soul contained
And every single part arranged
Behind a face I've froze in place.
Dull of sense, of thought, of taste.
Trapped inside is where resides
My awful soul of cyanide.

I* don't want you to create memories,
I want you to enjoy the moment, when I am with you.  
I want to be your performance drug, which makes you feel relaxed
and slows your heart rate.
I want you to absorb me directly into your bloodsteam.
I want to be the catalyst of your reactions.

written March 19, 2015

"who said people can't be poisonous?
because the thought of you is taking over my body
i'm ill, dizzy, unable to think straight
and you're just the catalyst to the fire setting off inside of me
slowly deteriorating like a wave crashing against rocks
but my stance isn't so strong
now that you're gone
slowly, i slip
into the deep sea
drowning in your memory and full of everything we used to be

who said people can't be poisonous?
because i sure feel infected
nothing but you on my mind
nauseous over the broken promises you once said you'd never turn on
but now all you're turning on is the anxiety and depression inside of me
this black spot within, i once repressed
is now back and spreading like fire lit to forest green
because you are poisonous
yet
you are also my remedy"