Love is sick. I Poison. Kill. Destroy. Yet here you are, standing before me, asking for it. Wanting death from a kiss, to have and hold the one thing that cannot be obtained. Your fingers, skidding over my body, dangerously near destruction.

Should we? Both dying together? It's poetic, no? Breaking open each other's rib cage, holding our most vital organs. Seems as something lovers would do. This is what loving feels like: Vanishing. Sinking. Happily drowning within another's soul.

There's joining of us. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. Hands everywhere. Bliss. Euphoria. Thus, dissolution. Torn apart by cursed fate. Separation. Darkness.