Willow

And I'm afraid you're turning just like one. With your ideals, your words, your attitude and feelings towards me are same with my past. Feelings too deadly to receive. Like a poison that I know, will corrupt me from within.

You're too drawn towards me, you're starting to roll towards my pit. And that slow push-and-pull attraction that I needed to take me out of my own dug grave, which (I must say) I believe I had with you, is nowhere to be felt. That equal tension, that balance of our attraction is now unequal. Where you're too into me compared to me being into you; and I'm afraid you'd fall on top of my coffin. And while I suffer in clustrophobia, where the air I breathe seems isn't enough, and my palms sweating hard; you're there falling deeper and deeper into me that soon enough, I'd struggle to be freed. Find my way upwards to the sky, and wait till I be weak and land on another different spot where I could dig a new grave.

Funny how I asked too hard for genuine, unconditional love, yet I struggle to run from it when it came knocking on my door.

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