#toxicromance
Once you said you see me in the sunset,
That the pink and yellow reminds you of me,
Perhaps my voice will succumb you,
Or that cat on the side of the street.
I see myself in a bloodstreamed agony,
with a heart full of venomous poison,
and a head which is full of doubt.
As there's nothing to be positive about.
The toxins will continue to rage through me,
As I wonder where it could've been better,
They will derive the colour from my skin,
As I desperately try not to throw it up.
I let you inject me, with the little hope left,
Foolishly I thought you'd take it out,
and as it turned out,
you were the one controlling the dosage.
I let you poison me anyway,
because it feels like medication to the pain,
You comfort me through the difficult,
Yet you're the one who makes the situation,
Rip me out slowly, and realise you enjoy it,
put endless needles in my wrist as I bleed,
The dosage gets bigger, and bigger.
Finally, I lose all strength, my vision blurs.
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 1:52 PM UTC
The thought of you still haunts my mind — ghosting each other;
still you echo in old pet names, those childish spells we cast: calling
me babe, you were my boo — now they sound like haunted nursery
rhymes.
_Ugghh!_ Self-cringing at the memories, self-sabotaging with these
rewinds. Getting lost in your mirage; a thirst that never quite learned
its lesson. Back then, I parked at the corner of love — these days, my
heart’s engine won’t even start. My drive stays parked in the garage.
We once kissed without question, and now I question every last kiss.
When they say I still love you, I deny it like an alibi that no longer fits.
But the truth is: half this story belongs to me, though I wrote every
chapter like a reader discovering my own heartbreak, turning pages,
rereading scenes I swore I’d forgotten, still hoping the ending changes
somehow. We had our teasers, those sweet previews of our forever.
But our forever got cancelled mid-season, and I’m stuck watching
reruns of us, in the quiet glow of what could’ve been.
Now your reflection lingers in the glass of every unfinished thought,
I try to wipe it clean, but ghosts don’t leave fingerprints — but their
fingers brush over your skin in these dreams.
You and I were once a plot that burned too bright, two names inked
in passion’s draft, now crossed out and fading. And so, we’ve met our
conclusion; lovers turned legends in a ghost story that still tells itself
at night.
Nov 12, 2025
Nov 12, 2025 at 11:11 PM UTC
Your eyes say forever,
your silence says fleeting.
You chain me with your touch,
yet leave me doubting
what name to give this fever.
I would surrender—
life, body, soul—
if this were love.
But if it is only desire,
then I am nothing more
than a flame you’ll let burn out.
Still, I stay,
hoping you’ll call it love.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 1:24 PM UTC
you will see his eyes
and think it is love
but the danger is
we stay
when we should leave
a stone
turns into a mountain
do not give
your love
to empty hands
Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 5:56 PM UTC
your love
plays guitar
but hides in a harmonica case
your lies
sweet to them
poison to me
if regret could ****
i would be gone
only my perfume
left in the wind
a ghost you chase
never knowing
we ended
before we began
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 6:34 AM UTC
Я тебе отправляю пенальти,
Как классово превосходный:
Это просто мои газлайки
Прилипли к тебе на морду.
Целовать, убивать тебя, драть —
Мне казалось маньяки навеки.
Но — Нежность и Страсть,
В масть и в грязь — эти камбэки.
👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:22 AM UTC
In the case of searching for the right man— is it really the _right_
man you're after, or just the _right now_ kind? The good-time
lover. The temporary warmth. The one who shows up late, but
still makes you hope it wasn’t too late. Never mind how long it
takes— you’re just hoping you’ll be the one he takes.
And if you start to care, truly care, will the weight of his past rest
too heavy on your heart? Will it matter what he whispered into
someone else’s ear before whispering into yours? Would you
flinch knowing another ear was the trial run, and you’re just
the version he’s learning to hold better, running into his arms.
If his pride is armed like a gun— quick to shoot you down for
standing too close— if he can’t even see your reflection, like a
man wearing sunglasses indoors, would you still stay? Would
your cheeks burn too bright with blush, to see the red flags
waving in front of you?
I’ve been blinded like that before…by charm. By timing. By love,
that felt like truth but turned out to be dressed in denial.
Jun 1, 2025
Jun 1, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC