They look at me
through their worn down features.
They've got lines
all over their faces
each a mark of frequented emotion.

Their suits are cut to perfection,
or else they haven't showered in months.
It doesn't make a difference,
this type of man...
are all the same in their bones.

They want my freshness,
the smooth touch of my skin,
the soft curls and curves
that haven't yet been worn rough by age.

They want the twist of my smile
my brightness, my beauty.
They see
untamed, unharnessed, naiveté  
sparkling in my eyes,
and they want it.

They want me to make them happy,
and through our word play
I can see it in their eyes.
The longing, the lust, the belittlement.

The twist of my  smile slowly drops down,
The sparkle in my eye sizzles out.
But my brightness?
It burns hot.

I am not naive, I know that you want me.
I am not yours for the taking.
My brightness burns hot,
and I will scorch you to your bones.

(Parents, raise your sons right)

"Can I get a light?"
and a withered, ***** hand reaches out.
She leans in, inhales, and spark.
Here in this moment,
there is intimacy.

This a moment of trust,
as she leans toward a stranger
and a flame in his hand.
Their eyes never meet,
their flesh does not touch...
and yet here in this moment,
there is intimacy.

There is nothing quite like the sight,
of a beautiful girl,
bright eyes, smooth features--
leaning against a wall,
welcoming slow death into her lungs .

Her cheeks are flushed from the cold,
her chin tilts upward
as she bites the smoke,
savoring it's sweetness.

There is nothing quite like the sight
of the smoke dancing around her,
as she exhales that death into the world
slowly, gracefully through soft lips

Where did we get lost?
When did this moment of intimacy grow so deadly?
When our young get lost in the smoke,
blinking fast, stinging eyes, they cry themselves to sleep.
Unaware that the smoke that hurts so much,
is from their own hands.

Your eyelashes
are dark and thick,
and when you're happy
they flutter like freakin' butterflies.

Which fly to my stomach,
and flutter around,  
and I can't think straight.
So I turn away,
each time-
without fail,
I turn away.

Because you hurt me,
like, a lot.
But I'd never admit it.
I'm the strong one remember?
Untouchable, unbreakable, irresistible.

But you are irresistible to me,
so much that it hurts.
You hurt, you make me hurt.

Or you would,  
if I'd let you.
Like salt and carmel on my lips,
sticky and stinging and sweet,
you are on the tip of my tongue,
but I will not swallow.
I will not breathe.
You will not get inside of me.

I will leave you to sting,
as I glue my lips closed
with your sweetness.

Because you are like me:
untouchable, unbreakable, irresistible--
and together we would touch.
and be touched,
and tingle,  
and be irresistible
and we would break.

You would shatter me into a million pieces
and I would blow you to smithereens.
And then what would become of our stinging sweet love?