I don’t know where we went wrong, but here we are… scratching and clawing like wounded animals. 

I guess I want this less than I thought I did, even as you foam with need to devour that.

We used to be Mentos rapid-fired into pressurized Cola, a frothing eruption of sexual entropy followed by sticky sweet messes that left us craving the depths of saccharine extremes.

More than we could handle.

We pushed too far, indulged too much. 

The wide-eyed wonder faded, flattened to bitterness. Then hate. 

All I see is you and him, recreating what we used to have.