I got psychotic for you.

When your eyes looked at me as if I was a burning forest in the middle of a cold-hearted winter that is when I should have left you. You loved the lust in between my teeth but you weren’t lustful for the love I could have left on your lips. You call on me like I am an emergency call and you expect me to answer every time and that’s when I should’ve left you.

When the boys around me told me I was a temple they wanted to worship and you wouldn’t even believe in the bittersweet scripts I wrote for you, that’s when I should’ve closed my gates for you. It’s written all over my skin and it goes deep inside my bones, the love poems I want to choke you with. You are not religious but you keep on reminding me of my religion, and that is when I should’ve left you.

When my friends kept on asking why and I kept on saying I don’t know when I knew it very well. I would love to love you but your name scratches my back with greedy promises and you make me scream my lungs out, and you make people applaud for me every time I go insane. I am not a tiger in a circus and you aren’t my trainer, I will not learn your tips and tricks of how to behave. I should’ve left you. I should’ve left you. I should’ve left you when you know me that well and you still question my poetry for you.

I think somewhere between you being an electron and me being a proton, I fall in love with you so madly. We are electric, magnetic, and dynamic. You are attracted to the way I pull you off me, and nothing would kill you but the electroshock running through your veins every time you want to touch me.

And you put my molecules on fire and they cry while burning: I am in love, I am in love and I love you. Moreover, I pretend I don’t hear them cause it hurts too much to know that we are not a symbiosis, that you only take and take and never ever give anything back.

Why don’t you combine your cells with mine? Destroy the walls and let them float in this blood of madness. Because we are not from here and every element of us is calling towards the west coast, and why don’t you die on my heart? Let the scientists study who we are…

Because we are a different kind of species.

The only love I ever want is the darkest of them all. It has sharp teeth and it shreds me to pieces. It is a dangerous kind of love; the one that forgives too quickly and makes amour out of revenge. And when it leaves you, you would cry on the kitchen floor and call your best friend. A love so dramatic that the only artistic thing about you will be the way you cry yourself to sleep. You would not write anymore because your damn lover took every pen of yours and stabbed you in the lungs with them. You would eat your heart with salt and your bear hands.

I want to die for love. Oh my dear, kill me. Turn me into a tragedy. 

Let them write about us.

Let them say I got psychotic for you.