She tried to love me,
But loving me is no different from a rash decision of committing suicide,
It is a table filled with different
Meals of regret,
Each coming with its burn in
The stomach of your brain,
Like taking a casual sip of the
World’s finest poison in
A mix of sweet red wine,
A bittersweet taste that by which you will surely die,
Loving me is like using a conducting wire to trap your wet wrists to an pen electric cable,
A slow walk into the dark of a
Demon-infested forest whose flowers bite
With fangs that draw blood with
The tongue of its grasses leaving
Venomous expectorate,
Escaping its horror needs inhuman speed,
Loving me may be wise or unwise,
Because each word dropped by my lips
Can leave you feeling good,
But like every good that comes with its season of evil,
Same goes for my love.
S.B.D7