Poetry, Prose, & Peonies

Fatal attraction.

What is it?

A phenomenon designated for romance?

No.

Keeping things that kill you.

Smoke fills my lungs,

A haze seeps into my brain,

No one on earth truly knows my name.

The blood I don,

Is not loyal.

The blood I cherish,

Despises me.

The blood running in my veins are flowing with lies and self-hatred,

But I didn’t ask for this blood.

For 22 years I tried,

My efforts pumping more toxins into my brain.

The more I tried, the more I died.

But blood is all we have.

Can we die from blood?

Only if it’s toxic.

But poison doesn’t change me.

My mind may be scattered,

My heart permanently shattered,

But your poison can’t kill me.

I opened a vein,

Lifeblood pours out,

Flowing like rainfall,

Scarlet whispers sting my pale skin.

Bleeding is painful,

But it stops the poison from reaching your heart.

I’d rather die by my own hand,

Than to watch your poison,

Tear me apart.