It would maybe be unfair to say it was all on you.
It wasn't.
I knew who you were.
What you were.
Who you are.
What you are.
And yet I knew I still wanted it.
Still want it.
But did I not say I'd get hurt?
I'd get attached, I'd want more, and I'd get hurt.
I knew it would come to this.
The twisting in my gut knew as well as I did that it would end one of two ways and neither were the pretty picture my heart was painting with my lifeblood.
Any time I saw you I knew it was too good to be true.
My clammy palms and nervous sheen of sweat knew.
The thundering beat in my chest that wouldn't rest knew.
Impartial friends that could plainly see how this ends knew.
After the act I knew for a fact it would end soon.
That very same day you went out to play and to ease the burn you took your turn at painting that pretty picture.
Two broken nails and a broken heart.
I knew from the start that you'd tear me apart.
When you said you'd destroy me in bed, was that really foreshadowing?
