As much as it hurts to admit this, what we have has to stop before it’s too late. There’s something about you that I like just a little too much for comfort. It pulls me into you as you stand there, waiting with a drawn knife to cut into me as soon as I get to you. You’ll gut me full and center, watching my insides fall out like a melted sack of ice; my heart and all its contents crumble out of me and form a morbid pile of sand and dust at my feet. Only then, as you kill me into being yours forever at the other end of your cursed knife, will you admit that you love me, too.
People like you carry curses of different breeds; the kind that convince you that Love is pure, and Love is grand, and Love is what wonder is left in this cruel and miserable world. I cannot subject myself to such untruthful things when I obtain slight whispers of hope from my own, love-annihilating Curse each night when you hold me just right. All my protection changed when your curse whispered into the wrong ears on the night we switched sides on that tiny bed, and I began to fall fast and hard into this disgusting belief system. I began to ponder all the useless shit I had spent so long trapping at the outer reaches of my dead-bolted brain, and I watched helplessly as they breached my security systems, banged down my thickest doors, and burned my faithful Curse to nothing but a heap of ash in their footsteps.
I began to question my priority, wonder what minute I would see you the soonest, wish I could call you just to tell you stupid sappy nothings that secretly I knew would only scare you away. I started to ponder what you were doing and if you were thinking about me, whether or not I could become exclusively yours, just for the sole purpose of making you exclusively mine. I began to think like someone I was not; like someone who was a complete sucker for this nonsense, loving every time that horrible monster slapped me upside the face with its most powerful blows, forcing me to fall on the ground like a mindless sap that could no longer fend for myself. Love was taking me over, bossing me around, calling me childish names while duct-taping my mouth shut so as to silence my truthful preaching. All entrances to my brain had been barricaded; bullshit locked inside and protection from this beast burned to a crisp and nowhere to be found.
I am the only person that can save myself from Love at this point. I am the only person that can develop the guts to fend off this horrible feeling and prevent it from sucking every last drop of passion from my life once more. This ogre is always to blame for those phases when I am at a complete loss; I have nothing interesting to say because I have stopped living in order to become a full-time practitioner of this completely worthless game. I feel completely jaded to the things in life that used to astound me. I lose my ability to meet people, I lose my ability to experience the unthinkable, I lose my ability to write, dream, think, play, inspire, all because I am too busy sitting on my ass being spoon-fed mushy piles of steamed Love with my hands tied behind my back. Soon enough I know I will cut through this rope, and breathe what life I have left into my companion Curse on my escape, because I am not this kind of victim.