As the goose bumps formed on my skin, my brain, high on false emotions, realized that I will only ever be pleased with childish novels and Jonas L.A. type shows.
Break a heart or two kid.

You're lies always come true, you contort your future with your stories, you're a solid ground for a little ghoul to harvest. 

• Every time you part your lips, you will pay for the kiss; the experience. You will also pay for the absence of experiences. 
• For every second your heart chattered with ardency, the rhythm of your heart will mangle with distress.
• Every melody in which you amuse him with your feeble little fingers and your tiny little voice, that will be the bomb in your chest, the waterworks.
• For every time he takes care of you when your sick, for that time after surgery when he nursed you back to health and dried your tears, you were paying into him your soul that he will never return to you.
• For every ping of jealousy you ever experienced and consoled yourself with these reflections, you will experience that jealousy times fifty.
• For every occurrence in which you ran your fingers through his hair, stared deeply into his green eyes, and didn't say an adequate amount, that too will drown you.
• For every episode that you were upset and you said too much, that will be the pit of self-hatred you call your stomach.

For everything you do, you are investing in your future.

She smirks in her bitter self esteem,
bathing in vanity; stressed and malicious, she bites her lip.
She prides herself over her mischievous actions, nearly purring at her realizations;
She coveted it; its her buddah, she recollects. S