I don’t romanticize toxicity, I know what I am. I know what I’m doing. I like breaking strong things and I’m good at it.

But this is new.

There’s nothing romantic about my obsession, about the calculated pull of the chain you’re not even aware you’re tangled in. The anticipation of the trap closing has my whole body humming like struck crystal; the control required for containment becomes unbearable for long moments at a time. I find myself paralyzed, watching you, incapable of anything more than drinking you in and feeling the sickness deepen.

It’s different this time. I am graceless in my hunger as the poison slips through my veins wearing your face, your lithe body. More and more I am overwhelmed, single-minded to the point of recklessness. My tongue slips every so often, off-color remarks you’re not naive enough to mistake, but you’re so forgiving. So generous, so fucking kind, I need to make you cry. Christ I need to watch you shudder and jerk, I need to hear you sobbing and begging like I need air fuck I need an exorcism.

But you. You you you know. You know. Don’t you?

You feed me scraps knowing full well I am ravenous, knowing I’ll cherish them like priceless treasure, running my hands over them endlessly as I imagine tearing you apart. You can’t be oblivious to this, it’s too monstrous, I know you know. I know you know and I’m coming for you. To drag my teeth across your perfect waist and curl my fingers around your pretty throat and spit my adoration into your filthy mouth.

I can’t breathe around the thought of your bowed spine. I can’t think of anything else and I am dying.