Melodrama

Life is so cyclical.

Waxing and waning, 

crescents and fulls.

I can see my own bullshit,

written within these constructs.

Rinse. 

Cycle. 

Repeat. 

I tear through men like a Mexican over the USA border.

I love them all, truly I do...

But never enough to give away my independence. 

Never enough to say goodbye to my freedom. 

Never enough to give them children and a wife. 

The reality isn't that they aren't good enough for me,

rather that they are too good for me. 

My mind is a fucking cess pool,

no one can enter it and live. 

My heart is ravaged and shredded,

the arteries are too clogged to pump out love.

My body has been too torn apart and abused,

to ever accept another's love and touch. 

I take these men,

these truly good men,

and I rip them apart. 

I make them just like me.

Little bitty dolls that feel and act just like I do. 

It's a disease. 

A virus. 

A monster. 

I am the virus. 

I will reside in your spine,

and infect your mind. 

There is no vaccination,

no cure,

no treatment plan.

Doctor's orders are to run the fuck away,

and never look back.