My baby can’t kill me entirely,
for he wants me half-alive.
Somewhere inside
he knows he can’t quit me,
yet.

So my baby
kill me with words
and caress me with kisses…
Sometimes when he’s out of touch with reality,
he’ll put bullet on my head,
inches away from the dead,
but not,
yet.

My baby love me in the morning
and hate me at night,
sometimes it’s the other way round.
Unlike math,
nothing ever certain about him.
He’s like daily zodiac,
like astrology.
My baby who love me,
my baby who love me not.

-LeLittle-

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