you say you want to wake up next to me:
my hair lying in a messy disarray on your arm,
my cheek mere kissing inches from your longing lips.
you say you adore my hands,
in all their exploratory inquisitiveness—
you say you’ve never discovered such tenderness before.
you say my intelligence and nose ring are sexy
and that you cannot get enough of my journalistic curiosity.
you say this is the relationship you have been longing for—
not a day passes where i am not showered with your encouragement.
take my hands [they’re yours],
run your equally curious fingertips
softly down my spine
in goose bump inducing fashion.
i want this partnership,
this new normal,
i like [us].
i should have let you fuck me—
at least then i could hate you rightly
and feel some ownership over past stormy thoughts.
i adored you once—a crazy, unstable kind of adoration
that i could never quite stare straight in the eye.
yet through time you became nothing more than
a rotting albatross that hung heavily
about my aching, weary neck:
i should have thrown your corpse off
the ship long before i finally did.
your claw marks dug deep,
they hooked cemented-ly into my tendons,
destroying any new muscle growth
with each heated, lying kiss.
when the feeling would hit with us [like a demented bass drop]—
it exploded all in its path:
you once peeked through drawn, smoky curtains
at your 2:15 a.m. whore walking up,
swathed in lust, sleep, and flannel
like a naïve, mindfucked lamb
to be sacrificed on your altar of
split personality narcissism.
pills were scatted on the counter, starkly contrasting
with the neatly turned down bed covers—
welcoming and haunting simultaneously.
my lips begged a single smile from you,
even the slightest word of affirmation would have done,
but even my hands’ perfect handiwork
was met with nothing more than an animalistic response.
you are not worth a second thought’s glance at these moments—
you forfeited each and every right to these copyrighted memories
the second you touched something else of Worth
[and even before that perhaps].
i let go of myself to make room for you,
letting you fuck me over with your empty words and unskilled hands:
but these are mere unwanted, quickly fading memories now,