His
kind of love is
a weapon
of mass destruction.
He
falls over and over
destroying
the hearts of
crowds
of the most innocent
women.
He
is a terrorist,
a
heartless beat,
with
a mind set to reach
a
point of detonation
in
5,4,3,2...
tick*
BOOM!!!!
Danger...
danger...
follows
me
danger...
danger...
I
cut my connections.
There
is nothing stranger
than
the thought of another
knowing
my wiring.
You
found me on this
dance
floor that feels more like
a
bomb shelter
you
don't know me
I've
lost my phone and ID
Smudged
eyeshadow
shimmery
darkness
across
my cheek bones
resembling
the aftermath of a blast
In
your arms
I
find a bomb shelter..***
And on
my lips you taste
the
residue of an explosive passion
that
is not ours...
