I swallowed love with a bitter aftertaste and I have scars to prove it. My demise is a comedy with no relief. I still recall every little detail and how it felt to be nothing. I made insecurities fashionable to the point of no return. You are the arsonist and I am the crime scene. My self-inflicted grief felt like a razorblade salvation; bleeding me out slowly. My near life experience scared me to death.
Phobia is assurance in comfort; don't be afraid to love me. Saying I am not the one is stupid like solving Global Warming by throwing ice cubes at the sun. To lose you is to never love again and you're a sucker for sympathy. I wouldn't even believe myself, but I have changed, I am who I say I am, I'm not the same. So take your own advice: don't trade your gold, for coal.
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