Waddya think of this poem?
Любовь is patient
Любовь is kind
Любовь is psycho
Plays with your mind.
I still need you
And Ты need me too.
Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa.
My fault, my grievous fault.
When you're hurt
By my hand
It's Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa.
To Любовь is to destroy.
It's a contradiction.
When I've tried my hardest to keep Ты safe
Shield Ты from the world outside
I try to kill those who breathe on you
I feel apathy.
You're warmth on my skin
Chills me within, I push Ты away
I run away from you, my fears of losing you
Overcome my Любовь for you
Cut myself, dreams of Ты deteriorating slowly kill me
Driving me insane
Ты ask of my issues
I don't let Ты know for it may hurt Ты too.
So as we kiss, I slice the skin on my arm with my стейк knife.
I bleed and bleed, staining the white shag rug. Scarlet.
Ты scream and scream until I whisper my last words, 'I Любовь you, but it killed me.'
And I wake up in cold yet hot sweat, pain easing up my arm. I look down, and see the scarlet invitation to a death parade.
I send Ты a goodbye text. Telling Ты to come visit me in the morning,
I walk slowly but steadily into the кухня and pull out the нож from my dream.
Cutting the skin on my chest, 'You+Me=
Till I see blood. Walk back to my room
Take my last breath and L slowly die.