The work

Why did you have to be the sweetest poison?
Why did you have to touch me like you love me?
Why did you have to contaminate my brain with visions of flowers, sunlight, and rainbows?
Why did you have to take me there, to the bridge, hold my hand to cross it together, and then cut the bridge down, so I could never go back?
Why did you have to have those stormy eyes so I could see so clearly, your pupils dilating with love-stupid dopamine each time your gaze met mine?
Why did you have to join me in chorus and harmony, then steal my voice away?
Why did you have to stir, but never dare to purify, the water in which all the dirt had settled?
Why did you have to pound your perfect feet on my heart, attempting to extinguish the smoldering embers of love?
Why did you have to have such a delicious, sick smile?
Why did you have to think I was beautiful?
Why did you have to hold the ghosts from my past, at the ready, in your pocket?
Why did you have to haunt me so deeply?
Why did you make yourself me, so that the sulci and gyri of my brain pulse like yours?
Why did you have to be so tender, then be so sharp?
Why did you have to closet the flowering plant?
Why did you have to burn up the threads of love that stitched us together through time and distance?
Why did you have to let me slip through your fingers like sand, and fly away with the wind?
Why did you have to force me to see myself in the lake’s reflection, so closely, so I could study myself like some twisted Narcissus?
Why did you have to bless my life with this pain?