bad love.

She likes bad love.

She's lost in bad love.

It happens when the heartbeats line up

and the harmonies don't.

When you watched too many movies in his retinas,

and bedroom eyes flirt more than tongues,

but tongues do all the work.

You got too comfortable with the speed limit

and put the car in neutral for the rest of the hill.

Bad love tries to make music out of sandpaper.

It has you putting soap in your salads and metals in your microwave,

and bad love only hurts once the temperature rises and burns down your best interests.

Bad love makes you cross-eyed

and not in the "he-keeps-my-world-spinning" kind of way.

Bad love has her spinning the steering wheel,

counting the u-turns and wrong turns

the turn-backs and text-backs.

It has a tally of all her favorite songs that turned rotten in her mouth

because bad love stays expired

no matter how many times she bites into it.

Hard teeth never was the cure for expiration dates.

She still likes bad love.

Bad love turned her into a parking-lot-scanner who can't kiss the same lips twice.

Who's scared of expiration dates,

and can't go on any new dates,

because she keeps setting due dates,

and bad love did everything but make her famous.

She hates bad love because his words come easy

and they break her lungs.

She loves bad love because

she loves him.