My Flower

You had lips like soft pink petals and fingertips like long sharp thorns. 
You always told me you wouldn't hurt, but I realized that was a lie when I tried to pick you.
And although your lips where soft, your fingers dug into me.
As my blood boiled to the surface you smiled and asked "does it hurt?" 
But nothing could hurt as much as what came next.
You had eyes like vast, beautiful galaxies and words like jagged blades.
I always thought your fingers hurt until you opened your mouth.
And when you did, your breath was a thick fog that rolled over me. 
Your words like a poisonous gas choking me yet pulling me closer to you.
As the distance between us grew smaller, your evil grin grew wider.
Your arms were a cage that had finally captured me.
Your vice-like grip grew tighter, crushing my bones.
But even broken bones and cut skin did not hurt as much as your words.