Burn

I hate that you make me happy.
I hate that you make my heart race and the hairs on my body stand.
I hate those goosebumps you send through my entire body by either saying or doing something.
I hate that you make me squirm with excitement and that your soft eyes and warm kisses give my face a whole new light.
You’re causing a wildfire and you know it.
You’ll leave before it burns out. That’s what I tend to think at least.
The forest will burn down and leave nothing but debris and the poisonous nostalgia of your love.
First loves are fierce and strong but this is not my first.
I am a shell.
I lie in the remains of past lovers and expect you to kick the same dirt they poured buckets of on to me.
My skin burns from the enjoyment but a fire can be deadly.
It leaves marks and scars and I can never recover.
I hate that every day with you is a new adventure.
I hate that this bitter seed of cynicism was planted into me from my own first love.
I don’t want to feel the butterflies anymore.
I don’t want to feel the colors anymore.
I don’t want to feel the warmth anymore.
Get me a burn victim unit because baby, you’re sparking up something inside of me that you won’t be able to control.
I am leeching onto your very existence and if you make one wrong move, I’m set ablaze.
My heart is charred and brittle and I don’t mean to put all this pressure onto you but it’s exactly why I wish I wasn’t so in love.
I hate that you make me happy, but I’m addicted.
Burn me.