I am broken glass,

yet you still try to touch.

And I know you were taught to

stay away from sharp objects.

So why can I feel your hands

on my shards? 

 

I am glowing flames,

yet you claim you are okay with warmth.

But I am not warm,

I am burning.

And I know you were taught to

stay away from fire.

So why do I hear you trying to reach me

past the crackle of my flames?

 

I am alcohol,

and you say that you want a drink. 

But I am not a sip of wine,

I am ten shots of tequila

at 2 AM.

And I know you were taught 

to turn away from me.

So why can I feel your lips,

tracing every inch of me?

 

I have warned you

that I am not safe.

I am glass,

I am fire,

I am alcohol.

And cuts,

burns,

and mistakes

are inevitable,

when I am near.