destructive little girl

He stands up to me when I proclaiming loud adjectives. Ones that cut him and run through me with smiles.

Humors me until I am content with the madness as it is. Madness = love.

And I sit on the couch for mins, what seems like hours? I say I don't care. I don't give a fuck. Find some fucks for me to give, please!
I do, I do. He knows, and let's me have my stage anyway.
I don’t fantasize about his body, nor his touch. I look at his eyes and I read nothing. This is not new. I feel no eyes can inspire me.

He has a tender touch. One that opens my mind to reality-

that there is someone who stands to be with me. I won't let him mold me…
I am not the woman in which his eyes are safe with.  

Step back like I always do and wonder if I am truly worth his attention. Is he worth mine? I start to crumble. Panic attack.
I cook him on the back burner, where the heat of love can barely reach.
If I cut him short there will be nothing to heal from.

After all the turbulence I will wonder why he wants to clean up my mess. What does he want in return?
A simple hug will calm me. I’ll stay in his arms like a child. He smells like something I don't want to remember. 

He saves me subconsciously.
I drain him emotionally.
He will leave and I will laugh to ease my tension.
Lifeless and boring, everyday will be a chore. I will hate him yet there will be no reason. I will want him for praise. Salvation, I'll say, save me, you can.

I will inform everyone of this pain, but midst it all I will remember -you and I never fucked, we never made love, and that will hurt even more.