Toxic Love
AJ Carpenter, Junior - Psychology
Faculty Mentor: Jeremy Biesbrouck - Psychology
Underneath my warm hands I felt your cold texture. Smooth, yet had bits of character such as grooves and crevasses that symbolized you had aged.
Mature.
Living a well life of being loved by everyone who comes into contact with you, your ego was inflamed. With most things, aging symbolized a period of ugly, a period of soon to be death.
It wasn’t going to be you who died though.
You grew more beautiful with time, more elegant. The type of elegant you would see when watching a royal wedding. Cream colored, beautiful, and filled with love. Wishing you could be a part of something so beautiful that many adore. Everyone sees how lovely you are, how you fill them with the type of warm where the sun beams onto your skin, giving you light sun kisses. You didn’t give me kisses though.
You gave me Pain.
I swat away the thought of you that buzzes in my mind like an annoying little black bug buzzing in my ear, but even that fly is attracted to you. I forgot my own self-control. A moment of weakness I will never forgive myself for. I wanted you, matter of fact I needed to taste you.
You drew me in like the others, by putting on your mask of perfectionism. You took on many forms, each one more tempting than the last.
On days you felt blue, you melted in my mouth like butter. The taste of burnt caramel.
Sweet.
It danced around my tongue. When I closed my eyes softly and saw bright flashes of green and blue, I knew you were a mistake. A negative feeling tingles in the pit of my stomach.
A person’s intuition lays there giving one gut instincts on situations that they should usually always follow. I realize you’re the one who makes me jealous and sad that I can’t enjoy what others have longed over.
One days you feel good, we dance around my yellow painted kitchen making homemade bread and drinking wine. The bread smell climbs up my nose but pushed aside by your strong scent. A stronger, harder, darker figure emerges but yet it intrigues me. I can tell you’re bad for me, why can’t I say no to you? You still taste of melted butter which reminds me that you’re still the same one brings out my jealousy.
Some days I don’t even recognize you. A monster rips through you. The type of scary that haunts your child, innocent like mind after watching a horror film. The type of scared that makes your hair on the back of your neck stand up as you freeze with fear. On these days, I can see your figure glaring back at me. Your eyes glow an intense red- orange as you grow more and more on me like bacteria.
How are you so adaptable, so versatile?
Even after these frightening days, you somehow always come back around to remind me that I must have been nuts for being scared. But you ripped me apart. You cut me like the monster you were. And even after leaving me stranded to cry out, you bounced back to make me melt. You have the perfect elasticity.
Your words still left a scar on my stomach that will never go away. Your words were the ones that cut me before when you were unrecognizable. But they were
sharp.
As you speak, sharp, cooling small breaths of air that leaves your mouth, all I can think about is how you excite me. Keep me going, even after damaging me. I feel as if I am the one with perfect elasticity, always coming back to get one last smell of your luscious aroma. Or maybe you’re just that manipulating that others can’t see you for who you truly are. You’re intense yet I love the surprise of which form I am going to taste today.
You look back at me when I am doubting perusing you while whispering that everything’s going to be easy, going to be okay. You’re smooth talking, or maybe it was all just in my head, either way, I gave into the urge that others do so easily.
Regret.
I regret the way I let myself collapse into your arms. Mind racing over every instance that you tried reeling me into you. I should’ve been stronger.
But you were a wheel that just kept spinning until you got what you wanted. You always wanted to hurt me. From the first day you thought I wouldn’t look past your mask that you put on for others yet I was the only one who you infected with and made me sick to my stomach.
I still love you. You are not good for me and I blame myself every time I give into a temptation, but
I love you.
Sometimes I purposely put on the rose colored glasses just for a moment so I can enjoy you. But eventually those shades get ripped from my face and there I face, reality.
In reality, you tear me to pieces.
You make my stomach flip into a war zone, battling between the decisions to peruse you again and deal with you killing me all over again for a short term satisfactory period or having self-respect.
I guess I don’t respect myself, because I will always pick you,
Cheese.