I think I've got no love left to give. I wish I had. I wish I could love you, you're such a nice girl. You're beautiful, you make me laugh, you got me giggling like a school girl with a crush, you have the sweetest name and the most adorable look on your face. You're even smart and sexy. I like your hands. I want them on my body, I want them pinned against the pillow. But I don't think I could really love you. Your soul, your wounds, your torn apart heart, your tangled thoughts, your pretty words, your ruined body, your ugly messed up self. Like I loved her. Her ugly messed up self, her soul that was sacred to me.
I don't think I could love that other girl either. She's extremely intelligent, destructive, alluring, narcisstic, she is a girl with a presence, a presence that could kill you or save you, if you loved her, a smile that could break you, a fire in her eyes, kerosene in her blood - just my type. And I feel nothing. Nothing at all.
So maybe it's true that I have no love left. Not now, after I loved her. I'm not tired or scared of love. I just have none for you... or her, or her, or that girl over there. I only love myself, I even think I'm in love with myself. She was the only one I was able to love more than I love myself.
And I don't even have a broken heart now. Some pain to remind me I'm still living. It all went away, it gradually disappeared until there was nothing. A huge consuming nothing.
I can't write anymore. I have nothing to write about. I have no one to inspire me like she did.
And all I wanna do is set my house on fire.