Bomb.

A Poem by Dcael

The ironic thing is, when we first met we joked about a bomb and the bomb was me. We joked because I was damaged, because I was a little thing that could blow up. We joked about what would trigger me, detonate.
The problem is, slowly my spark fizzled out. Which sounds good. It was good. I was no longer a danger in a once potential mind field of emotions.
You, however. You took all explosives out of me.Though instead of ridding yourself of them you got tangled. You adopted my fear of hurting those around me.
And then you blew.