(I’ll never use ChatGPT to write my poetry/songs for me. True art comes from the soul. If you don’t have a soul, bad luck…)
I fell in love with someone who drained the light from my eyes as I tried to fill his cup instead of my own. He salivated as he watched me go for the bait time and time again.
Someone who crawled under my skin like a needle, who knew how to make me doubt everything. Dropping the seeds within conversations.
‘He’ll never love you like I do’
Correct. The dopamine high won’t be the same. However, the ache in my chest at 3am would be soothed with a quick hand squeeze and ‘I got you’, instead of met with silence and ‘I’m going to sleep’, whilst you crawl to the next available woman.
Now, your kind of love comes with conditions, with lies, with highs, with lows. You want me to offer you my limbs for you to tear flesh off slowly. Eye contact whilst you rip the skin from bone. Intense, but not built to last. If I was yours tomorrow the cycle would start over again, because it was never about who I am or what we had. You just required a warm body to tell you how great you are…
‘He’ll never love you like I do’