Love me for my destruction, for my mayhem --
after all, loving you isn't so much different,
I could have chosen cigarettes, smokey ashtrays over your
smokey eye make-up,
Or maybe alcohol, sip at lukewarm beer, and become embittered by how
your lips are stained elegantly wine,
and then again, I might've had the opportunity to inhale car exhaust
but your breath is much heavier than monoxide
and much more deadly--
turns out nuclear warfare is much more easily attainable by
your explosive needs
for genocide -- you love those broken hearts,
you little radioactive succubus.
Knives, I could have made love to a knife, but I guess your nails served the same purpose, you've left your mark, okay?
I have a target in the shape
of little crescent marks on my back from you and
people keep
staring.
And yes, I could've injected myself with something stronger like morphine, but
you're already running through my ******* veins --
I looked up "infatuation" in the dictionary but the words kept
blurring because all I could see was your blushing expression
when I used my fingertips like paintbrushes
on your cheekbones.

There is a door in each mind
Where things will hide
Beneath every corner and shadow
To protect itself the room fills with toxins

So to protect the human outside this mind
a fictitious character is made
The only thing that can be grasped
is the heart no longer the mind.

Only if she would allow one to understand
Read her schematics, and try to make sense.
That behind those shattered eyes
is a view of the world falling around her.

The scattered pieces tear any man apart
Breathing in the toxic air one can wish
to be unbreakable
to hold her pains inside themselves.

That door in her mind
has never been entered
With a trefoil hanging from the door
as a warning to never enter.

No one will ever return
when that door shuts
Know that the shadows
allow no life inside.