Do not love me, 

I’ll make you the scribe of my chaos,

Author of every twist I never warned you about.

They say drowning a flower is still watering it, 

And my love is a flood,

Loud, relentless, unforgiving.

It is violent, 

Represented by actions and words unsilenced 

You’ll be my relic,

My towering monument,

My euphoric curse,

My living poem.

But know this, 

My love is a storm cloaked in silk,

My affection, a beautiful bruise. 

It runs deep, dark and  voiceless.

For it is terrifying,

A horrid cause,

The depth is petrifying,

And caged by unspoken words.

For my love should not be considered a fleeting game, 

Rather fiery, a steadfast flame, 

For you'll either ignite or turn to ash.