Okay, ready for some insomnia-fueled poetry? It’ll probably be completely nuts… Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

You surprise me at every turn,
my twisted little friend.
When I think I’m rid of you,
you visit me again.

Your comfort stings like needles;
your existence is a sin.
Like a cold rain, falling hard,
weaving serpents on my skin.

Whisper your sweet lies to me,
I’ll not bend to your will.
I learned my lesson long ago,
though my lips taste of your poison still.

Yup. Batshit insane, just as I thought.