She has a way with Words

I fell in love with schizophrenia. Wait, that's not right. She's not crazy (though she is about certain things) but her moods swing just like children do at the public park; carelessly and somewhat lazily, without worry or fear. I fell in love with the erratic behavior, and the unexpected confessions. I fell in love with the schizophrenia. Maybe I'd have gone in with a bottle of pills, or a whole lot of grass, any sort of battle-weapon to prepare me. I didn't though. I fell alone, and hit rock bottom like a feather hits a hot amber. I let it consume me because the pain got me off; it still does. I didn't care then and I don't feel much differently now. But I'm comfortable here. I think she swings wildly because she needs someone to grab her; because she needs to be held, and calmed, until the next big rush. She knows I could never have enough, so she feeds it to me because I've been starved. She loves the control, and I love the taste of blood and sweat. We all gotta start somewhere right? I've tasted warmth, and love, too, though. But of course she's capable of both, she swings where she pleases; I push when she asks.