Horror Movie Romance
It starts the way all the best slashers do–lights flicker, floorboards creak,
A tension behind every glance, the sense that every hallway hides a secret too heavy to speak.
We trade lines like masked killers, baiting each other with just enough affection to keep us close,
Both addicted to the adrenaline, the power of a fight that feels almost like love, but sharper, almost morose.
Your laughter is the soundtrack, jagged and manic, echoing down the stairs like a warning,
And every kiss is a threat–blood-red lipstick, teeth grazing skin, making sure the wounds are real and never boring.
We lock ourselves inside this haunted house, arguing over whose nightmares matter more,
Banging on the walls, daring the ghosts to come out and show themselves,
But the only specters here are the ones we brought in–
Our past loves rotting in the crawlspace, our doubts lurking beneath the floor.
You’re the scream queen–wide eyes and sharper tongue, never running up the stairs unless it’s to make a scene,
I’m the villain, grinning in the shadows, too proud to let you see the damage behind the mask,
We circle each other like killers in the third act–who’s going to make the first cut, who’s going to run,
But nobody’s innocent and nobody’s getting out without scars,
We keep finding new ways to hurt each other, new special effects for pain,
Chasing down every corridor of old grievances, twisting the knife just to prove we’re still alive and not tamed.
We know the rules–never split up, never say “I’ll be right back,”
But we break them all nightly, loving each other with knives instead of hands,
And somehow we’re always the last ones left standing,
Blood on the linoleum, hearts thudding with the thrill of survival and the exhaustion of not dying.
There’s no doves at the end of this story, no slow fade to white,
Just blood on the sheets, mascara on the pillow, and a house still echoing with our fights.
Sometimes I wonder if we could just walk off this set,
Abandon the haunted house, drop our weapons and scripts and try to love each other for real,
But the truth is, we’re addicted to the danger, the chase, the catharsis of the kill,
We’d miss the fear, the drama, the chaos–the way every day feels like an audition for “most likely to survive,”
Maybe there’s peace outside, but peace is overrated when you’ve tasted love this alive.
So we replay the scenes, improvise new wounds,
Knowing the monster is always us, always in the room,
And if there’s a twist ending, it’s that we wouldn’t trade it for anything softer or safe–
We love in horror, loud and unforgiving, never fading to black,
Bound by fate, bound by trauma, bound by the knowledge that only the haunted ever truly love back.