Slowest Form of Suicide

They say that unrequited love, is the slowest form of suicide. How can loving someone so much be killing you yet make you feel so alive? My breaking heart still races at the thought of just your touch I only believe it's a sickness, and you to be my valiant crutch And while you quietly bleed me out keeping me at arms length I still think with all of my heart, that you still give me strength. You charm and draw me in, like a moth drawn to a flame And like the moth, I do not know, it's Russian roulette, this game. You pull me in and push me away Never letting me too close Afraid the mask might fall and break And your upper hand would be lost. And as my breath grows shallow I write it off as simple lust Not knowing that you're killing me and soon I will return to dust. And in the final moments, the truth, I can not hide-- I blame it on you, screaming that you killed me and lied-- but it was my own hand that held the knife, knowing you could never love me back And it was my decision to decide And In the name of love, it was I, whoI chose suicide.