Ruin

It would be easier to have never met you.

To have never been loved. Wanted. Cared for unabashedly.

Because I hadn't ever had it, so I hadn't ever needed it.

Now I cannot let myself want it.

Perhaps before, when I had my first love in the way that I am yours.

Back when my pale skin wasn't sickly, and my hair was curly and not chemically leached of life.

Back when my heart wasn't hardened and I wasn't all cracked skin and bruises that won't fade.

If you could see the tricks the little magician in my mind pulled,

cruel and unfair to you, you would never look at me the same.

And that thought is the only thing painful enough to draw tears from my apathetic body.

And all I can do is feel the ache, knowing I will ruin this soon.

Will ruin this for you. Because I cannot live healthily, and I cannot accept a love that asks for nothing in return.