Warning...

"WARNING: When you first meet me, the first thing you’ll notice are my eyes.
Do not tell me that “you think you’ve gotten lost in them”, because
I am tired of having to reach past my eyelids to pull you out when
you dig too far. I have a thing about not letting people explore 
certain parts of me.
WARNING: I drive a bright blue sports car to compensate for the dull colors
and silent roar I have in my chest. Don’t be offended if you can’t
hear the sound of my emotion over the engine. The noise is
there for a reason.
WARNING: I put ketchup on macaroni. And mashed potatoes. And pizza. And sandwiches. 
And you’re going to have to accept that I do a lot of things most
people wouldn’t.
WARNING: I tend to hold things very, very tightly. Bed sheets, stress balls, 
and especially hands. I tend to break bones and shatter hearts without any force
at all. Please remember this when I try to lace my fingers through yours for the 
first time.
WARNING: There aren’t many physical places I can call home anymore,
so I typically turn to people. I morph myself tangible, changeable, adaptable 
to those who take the time to actually press their bodies to my own. I peel away
slowly, choppy, like skinning an orange. Some fragments of my shell take a little
longer to scrape off than others.
Adhere to this when I undress in front of you for the first time. Take me on a 
tour through your chest. Let me feel out the walls of your house for a while.
WARNING: As a Gemini, I have another person crawl into my bed with me every
night. She is my twin. My alter ego. My insanity pressed into this body
like glue, and I cannot live without her chaos present. She will show herself
to you after four shots and three beers. Be prepared take her in your grasp
as tenderly as you take the real me into your embrace this evening. She is still me. 
And I am still here, and loving you harder than ever.
WARNING: I cannot stand by the ocean and not leave my body. I am a part
of every creature in its depths, I am the deafening, paralyzing aura 
beneath its heavy waves, I am the fear felt when you swim out too far. 
Please don’t drown in me. For I cannot save you. I can only creep back 
to shore.
WARNING: I’m trying to write out more warnings but it’s difficult to
tell you when the demon on my shoulder is telling me not to.
WARNING: I listen to that demon a lot more than I should.
WARNING: I’m sorry to tell you that it will probably trump over you trying to
help me, more
than once.
WARNING
WARNING
WARNING

WARNING: I’m sorry. My eyes tend to flash warning lights in the back of my 
skull, and they echo throughout me:
red, blue, red, blue,
yellow, black, yellow, black,
completely red.
WARNING: I don’t know how to not be afraid.
WARNING: “Evacuate, evacuate, this is not a safe area to be in.” Though, I can’t help but stay. 
Even if the radiation you give off is life-threatening. Even if her kiss still reigns over lips.
WARNING: I… I wrote this for you.
WARNING: I don’t think you were paying attention.
WARNING: I have qualities that are a lot gentler than hers.
WARNING: What I’m trying to say is that, when I try to move my furniture,
my baggage, my life, into your home, I can only hope that it will fit. I can only
imagine that you’ll adapt to the other things in the room; the elephant, the past
haunts, the way I hoard memories like energy. I am only functional when I hurt.
WARNING: …so keep saying her name in bed. 
WARNING: …so keep telling me maybe.
WARNING: …so keep me as your puppet.
WARNING: Do as you wish.
WARNING: They’re only warnings, after all."