Want What Want Wants.

Want What Want Wants.

Shadows crowd and the heart pumps,
Beat, beat, bump.
She sees the sign, but her eyes are to glazed to see,
She wants what want wants.
She does.
One more kiss and she will be mine.
Her eyes close, and the paint is plucked. The red is rare, and the pillow is soft. Her strain can't be seen, but she waits for that touch, shivering for that touch. It's too tempting to leave her here, on an edge, waiting for that fall to the dirty rocks below. She wants to wash up to an unknown shore. A paradise that she won't notice, but a paradise of which she can say she has been too.
Should I?
Doing this will be torture for her more than me; I know I could break her
It is rude to break something so fragile like china.
To touch, to kiss, to hold, and to break, is more powerful than anything I can do.
It would be easy.
Too easy.

I pull back.
Her eyes flutter, black holes stare, waiting for someone to fall into their dark oblivion.
I think somebody already has. Herself.
Her jaw goes slack, her throat tightens. It's so easy, so so easy. I instantly regret not kissing her, controlling her. Making me her drug. Her addiction for love is leaving her to be someone unlovable and that is what stops me.
She might as well face it.
She is addicted.
Her house is warm, but her body is cold. She needs touch, words. Words are probably her only guidance. She's an English major. She loves to love romance, she must, because otherwise it doesn't make sense. She wouldn't make sense. I know people, and I know her.

Her mascara is already falling down her face and her body coughs words of whys,and comes, and pleases, and since I don't hear nothing English, I can't understand her.
She wants what want wants.
She will have all the scraps, but she sees it all like a homeless man finding gold. She's addictive. Addicted.
Her love is all powerful, but she wouldn't die for Romeo. She would wait for him to die first. She's addicted. Addicted to love, but too much won't kill her, it makes her see sense, that's probably why she craves it. I can see all this in those black eyes. Her emotionless eyes.
She doesn't want love, she wants life. She wants to live. Love is her addiction and life is her high.

If your'e alone, the type of mind as hers will find you, they always do. The ones that use and use, until life is waiting round the next corner. They drain your life and call it love. To them your their saviour, but their your killer.
I guess in a way one more kiss and I will be hers.
Always theirs.
I might as well face it, I'm addicted to her.