the kind of love that makes you cling,
like a child, letting her hair down on the swing,
getting all dizzy, upside-down hanging,
feeling the rush of adrenaline pumping,
so perilous that one look away—she falls, and it stings.
where is my angel?
you're supposed to look after me, but instead, you travel,
far away, soaring up the sky like an eagle.
you know what? you're nothing, but a drivel.
it’d be better if you just mangled
the guts out of me, beastly and cruel.
at least I’d die instantly
instead of searching desperately,
wishing for the possibility
that you were just hiding quietly
behind the big old oak, jokingly,
then surprising me, calling me "silly!"
I should’ve known your presence would be gone
as fast as the adrenaline dries down,
like the summer sun swallowed by the ground.
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