Your fingerprints are addictive
your hands are not gentle on me,
and the bruises stay with me for days, a love note
of violence and need. you don't call, i stare at the phone
in my hands for twenty minutes and my palm is pressed
to the aching spot on my neck (you drew blood, a tattoo of
marks across the surface and i am scarred, marked, owned)
when i press the numbers finally,
i listen to it ring twice and you pick up,
you wrap me in laughter and unpolished lies.
your fingerprints are spraying addiction across my skin
like any new cliche, heroin & coke dripping down my throat and
my teeth are on your shoulder, we curl around each other
like badly made paper flowers, crayola colored and
crumbled from re-folding.
(i forget that i never wanted you to touch me)
--
midas touch
you skin clings to mine like a lost-and-found child
clings to his mother after five years disappearance,
and when our bodies push push push together in this ritual pleasure
i have the sensation of being siamese,
shaking with anticipation to untangle your august air limbs
to know if my legs my eyes my h/e/a/r/t
are still whole and my own
not halfed with a blue-eyed boy
barely holding the sky above his sanity with borrowed romantic ideals
faery tale endings i myself am too young to dissolve
too young to sink when the blood of your heart
coagulates on our thighs
smearing slightly on your witch's apple lips
composing passion declaration kisses
swallowing my becoming
g
o
l
d ust
statuesque
in your (so.innocent) hands
and (mygod, midas)
i never bargained to be this lov(own)ed
--
bound
i am the sting of rusted nails, the holes punched in your wall
(inhaling, keeping noxious fumes, the stale smell of the room
the weight of your body, heavy like cars
eyes without contacts out of focus
just like on the sofa bed, stinking of gas station liquor,
just like on the sofa bed, where your trinity raped me without conscience.)
what i asked for has become meaningless
among these lipstick-stained cigarette tips tossed with indiscretion into dead grass
burning timid ground, temporarily laying the memory behind my eyes to rest.
& could it have been too much to offer, you could have been somewhat kind
wrapped my body in tarp, bound red wrists & ankles in rough rope
(rough rope, rough rope i could not have stood
for fear it would have felt too much like the palms of your hands
against the insides of my thighs.)
is it possible, could i have found
the root of all our evils, through muted camera footage
could i have found, the root of all our evils
falling with this hatred all too eager to leave your boymouth.
you have left me with a pain i cannot leave behind,
even as the tires of the tired blue car take me where the chances of your body reaching mine
are as slim as a lottery winning or a promise, kept with first intentions.
your name will stay imprinted on this inverted heart of mine
as these holes cut within myself
refuse to let the pride i hold in front of me in,
the pride i hold in front of me for no other reason than you,
always you,
always you, who will not die like god and men and valentines do,
who leaves my self to be two things,
never similar, and never part of one another.
you have left me in a pain i cannot leave behind.
.
i put your name in a shoebox, scratched on a knife.
your picture tried to speak with me, but i singed your lips
with salt-like stitches
as my tears laid still as oceans against the lid.
i hold my hands close, bound against your memory.
--
the sheets are dirty anyway
& I've given up on my romanticized ideas of you
(curly hair, twisted smirk)
-after all romance is dead.
The petals dropped off it and laid in the dirt, I stepped on them.
tore them in my hands down their seams
because I could
-you know-
I almost laughed at you the other day,
-gringrin-
stop your guilt, darling, it was never worth it.
The sheets are dirty anyway, I drank the rest of the bleach last night
mixed it with jack daniels and whipped cream.
Everything tastes better sweet-
I guess you'd know that, looking like you do.
You would have made a pretty girl,
and sometimes I think you are one,
those eyes pull me closer every time I look at you and I can honestly say "you take my breath away"
and when you light me a cigarette while I'm driving and watch my lips stain the filter bloody I feel my lungs hitch,
and I can see why you'd die tomorrow, beautiful
We could stop breathing tomorrow.
but I don't think we care and I don't think it matters
because we've wanted death and kissed it, tongues and teeth and lust,
(alive)
we are so alive,
still running and smiling and laughing.
stop lying.
you know it never mattered anyway.
--
let's suffocate
drinking over-brewed coffee
with too much sugar
& too much flavoured cream
bitterness on your tongue
//salt//
his flavour lingers
& no amount of bad coffee
will cover it
(neither will the
obscure music
make you forget)
sitting alone in the dark
with goosebumps trailing
up your arms
