I’m addicted to losing,
to getting my hopes up,
to not seeing the red flags.
I love living in a world of fantasy,
borrowing scenes from my favorite books,
of love and desire
that will never happen.
I’m addicted to searching for passion
in the darkest part of a man’s soul,
the place he guards from everyone.
I believe I can lower his walls with my lips,
that I can thaw his heart with my desire.
I’m addicted to battles
I already know I’ll lose,
to going to bed at night
dreaming of an epic love story
where everything is against us,
but love still survives.
I’m addicted to replaying
our single moment of lust,
the instant we surrendered
to what we wanted,
when I decided you were worthy
of knowing the darkest side of me.
I dragged us both toward oblivion,
but as always,
I stayed there alone,
floating in nothingness.
I’m addicted to love
when nothing is there,
because I know
how to survive its absence.
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