I would rather kill him, or torture him in the honey he gave to me, the honey covering the words he spoke to me but, every time I try he doesn't understand the sweet torture he gave.                    He is a literal antidepressants. Talking to him clears the thunder rumbling in the clouds over my head. He dries my eyes and makes everything alright. He numbs the pain inside me. 
           He's an addiction, it's terrifying that I can't live one day without him. It pries, tears at my skin and bones, and stabs a hole right through my heart until I bleed out in mourning over the drug I no longer have in my system.
            It terrifies me that he has complete control over my mind. He feels pain and the drug inside me feels the pain to an excruciating level, to a level that is completely unbearable. His happiness radiates into my stomach, letting the butterflies free but, in return my stomach oozes the raspberry jelly of my life. He eats it up and loves it. It only entices more of my life, love and liberty to be poured over him. 
             I cry for help but, he never calls back. I like it that way. Because, when he turns back for me- there it is. The honey, that I love so much, pouring out of his mouth slowly dripping to the floor. 
I
love 
it. 

              The sugary sweet topping over his body is only an illusion. A sweet illusion. What people see is a mere covering over himself to shield away what he really is, the depressants itself.
               He doesn't understand the beauty he portrays on the daily bases, the daily loving nature that heals anyone's broken soul. The sad part is that he is the broken soul with no one to save him.
              If anyone were to take the drug out of my system, I am so addicted, I might snap into a crazed tantrum, because, I love it.