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I am in love with death.

How the word fits on my tongue like it was always ment to be there.

How the thoughts sends chills down my spine, as if it was a kiss on my neck.

I love it, I idolize it, I breath it.

I am so infatuated with the idea that I long for it night until day, and day until night.

The more I try to fight it, the more it rushes in like a tornado in the night.

Like an unwanted guest that begs me to give in, that no is not enough

I scream, I cry not wanting to die.

The more I fight, the more it entangles me deeper into it's web full of lies that I find comfort within.

I am in love with death, even with it's fucking hands tied around my throat.

A beautifully horrific feeling to have.

I can't stop wanting it, longing for it, living only for it.

Yet I hate every second of it.