You tell me things about your past,

I am unsure,

should I appreciate you for opening up,

or should I worry about the contents of it.

I know you were bad news,

I knew it right when I saw you.

Yet there was something about you,

That made me try it anyway.

Was it really something about you?

Might as well been all about me.

Always searching for this odd confirmation,

from people I do not even know.

You nearly fucked me today,

Right on top of me, after an awesome date,

I saw that fire in your eyes,

but I also noticed your hands feeling a bit too familiar.

I knew you were a bad boy,

but I couldn’t expect you to be a playboy.

I am too insecure for this,

the demons aren’t yelling at me just for fun.

So there you are, grabbing me, pulling me towards you,

Those passionate kisses I can definitely get used to,

But those hands on private places,

They will always bring me back.

When things go too fast, too easy,

your routine does not work for me.

I can see right through you,

but yet I don’t know what to do.

So mister bad news,

I see what you are doing here,

You forgot I am a journalist,

And now I have questions.

I wonder so much about the answer,

No stone will be left unturned.

Have I been right about you all along,

or will you surprise me by not doing me wrong?