Ain't about that lush life.

You'll do anything to be satisfied,
even if that means dressing me up as if
I'm royalty then chaining me to the doors
of a dungeon where your lust burns all
good to the ground.

You told me I'm a good kisser, like I'd
done it professionally, practiced with summer
lips pressed to ripe strawberries and oh my
how you fooled me into believing this was
anything but savageness.

I can't look at certain things the same way.
Whenever I sweat, I imagine the heaviness
of your legs on me as my mind screams
to rid me free yet my tongue cleaves to my jaw.
Hotel rooms and truck stops were never meant
to become places of fear; they were supposed to
be places of safety, of rest, of vacations and
spring breaks.

"Let's draw a bath; let's poison our veins with
wine; let's stop running from the volcano of our
emotions."

I can't be your wild thing.

I can't live like I'm dying.

These consequences leech onto me for how
could I pretend I'm carefree when I care enough
to not be some fantasy I'm not?

-

6/15/16 @ 12:19 AM

// Just a rant. Title in reference to Zara Larson's song "Lush Life" and a mention of the body/skin care products called "Lush". Several personal meanings. //