Diário de Bordo

1.16 a.m

You should be a crime. Hell, you are.
You are the reason women like me break like little baby china dolls. You're the reason we write bad poetry and seek for words that do not exist in books that were never written just to describe the sound of your breathing. You make us believe pain is a wonderful place to wander. Insanity takes over and loving you feels like standing in the desert with only a bottle of poison. If I smoked, you'd be the reason for me to smoke my first cigarette of the day. And the last. 
You're the reason I don't want to be mended. I like to be a little broken because I'm delighted by the way these clouded thoughts mirror my somewhat dark soul, and the pain blossoms in my chest like flowers in march and it makes me feel alive. I like the damage. I'm the queen of tears and fears, you're a lovely dangerous mistery. I'm a fallen angel wrapped in stone, you're a devil covered in diamonds. You are the reason the stars align, the reason I die a little everyday. You could make hell feel like home, and heaven look like a horrid place in your absence. You are never enough for me, and yet, so much more than I could ever take. You're not mine, I'm not yours. Somehow we still belong to each other. And I hate you, but I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. 
Tell me you love me back, in the dark so I don't see your broken, lying eyes.

I'll die anyway.

Image from Tumblr