Maybe i'll make you
a love potion
Made of cyanide.

Just so you know what it feels like
To truly be dying inside.

If this is sugar
Then it's not so sweet.

If this is blood well
Honey, it's not that deep.

If one considers love to be a poison,
Does that mean that if after enough doses,
The patient will develop an immunity?
Assuming of course that the doses aren't lethal,
Which is sometimes the case.

As I sit here by myself,
I try to write these words.
I try to force them into sense,
and make them not sound absurd.

I used to transfer pain,
through the tip of this pen.
Pouring out the poison,
so that I could think again.

I used to bask in the hollow,
that the transfer left behind.
Breathing in the silence,
of a defragmented mind.

Then one day I wrote something,
and set back to enjoy the peace,
but the transfer didn’t happen,
and the noise seemed to increase.

It was like instead of hitting transfer,
my mind hit copy instead.
It was there on the page,
but it was still in my head.

I began to panic,
with every poem I wrote.
The poison wouldn’t leave,
and it was coating my throat.

I began to notice teardrops,
and that my words were blurred.
I never even knew I was crying,
but my brain was slurred.

Whatever this is,
it’s taken hold of me.
It won’t allow me the pleasure,
of setting my thoughts free.

So I’m slowly filling up,
and tipping more each day.
One day I’ll crash over,
and this debt will be paid.

I think that’s the reason,
that I can’t force it out.
I have sins to atone for,
ones I can’t forget about.

Once upon a time,
is how fairytales begin,
but Happily Ever After,
is not reality before The End.

Take anguish and grief,
and sprinkle it with some spite.
Add a dash of self hatred,
and some pain till it tastes right.

Don’t forget betrayal,
to give it that bitter note.
Maybe just a pinch of love,
to bring the sweetness to your throat.

And you can’t forget addiction,
any one will do.
Maybe a touch of insanity,
if you want some zest to this stew.

Now, Once Upon A Time,
you tried this meal,
and Happily Ever After,
was certainly not how you feel.

I’m afraid that if we keep eating,
then we’ll all be dead soon.
Because what we’ve made is poison,
and hope is our spoon.

So now it’s your choice,
eat up, or start again.
I’d suggest starting over,
cause if you don’t it’s The End.

I knew
That i would fall for him
When i first saw him
And at that moment
I knew
I would get hurt
But i didn't mind the pain
I didn't  mind
Killing myself
For him
He was like a poison to me
Something so dangerous
Yet I'd risk my life for