You make the first move
and I rise to meet you
The destruction we agree
is mutually assured

If this love is war
we're going nuclear

I refuse to sign the peace
treaty, to surrender my
lands to a man who's  history
rides nations in his eyes

You cannot coax me
out of my shell only
to crush me when I am
most vulnerable

I will not be an
innocent bystander
to your horrors

I will not allow you
to make my pain beautiful
It is not your canvas
to experiment on.

(You'll only throw
red at it anyway)

I'm tired of tiptoeing
around the subject
like it is a minefield

Eventually I will
bleed your intentions dry
bandage them with a kiss
and revel in their cries

I will tear apart the lies
deftly with nimble fingers
and your tongue will always
defy you, spitting fire
and carefully lodged bullets

Once your secrets flare
there will be no rescue party
to salvage what we had

Only our ashes shall remain
*embers of a past unspoken.

I wonder if like a storm you are
unaware of the damage you inflict.
Flooding these walls with screams,
shattering the fragility of our home.

I assume you are too caught up
within your own struggles to break free.
The wrath of your thoughts and those
calculating fingers rake your flesh.

Etching violent artistry's to your soulless
voids. Little needles which pin-***** at
the dark corners of your mind; awakening
the dormant cruelty sheltered within.

It is only through the cusp of night that
apologies emerge as you feign delicacy.
Your liquid skies fade to hellish hues as
you tell me not to lust after hurricanes.

During my manic episodes, you found me fun, fervent, even amazing. You told me that you wouldn’t trade my love for anything.
You told me that I made the butterflies dance in your stomach,
and made the demons disappear in your head.
With every “I love you,” there was a smirk and a kiss.
You told me that I was one of a kind
and you’d be there for me no matter what because you couldn’t imagine living without me.
After my first bad episode, you started telling me that my love was overbearing and you needed space.
You told me that you felt suffocated and I was like a child craving attention from their mother. You told me I was too repetitive and you just wanted to go get high.
Every time I said “I love you” you looked at me, shrugged, and said “me too.”
I asked you what happened to “forever” and you said only sane girls keep their prince.
You acted as if I got to pick and choose what disorder I wanted. As if being bipolar was a luxury I wasn’t taking advantage of.
When you got sent to a mental institution for attempting suicide, I searched for you for six hours until your mom told me where you were.
After you returned,
I helped you find yourself again and lost myself in the process.
I sacrificed everything for your well-being,
and you had no interest in mine.
You made me believe that being bipolar made you a terrible person, but then I looked at you with tearful eyes,
and got a peek at what terrible really is.
Thanks to you, I know who I am.