She didn’t want the feelings anymore.

She didn’t want the lingering sadness after a short high of happiness.
She didn’t want the questions eating her up at night.
She didn’t want the worry of what she was and what she wasn’t.
She didn’t want to wonder if she was doing things right or completely wrong.
She didn’t want to be the home to violent hate for herself
but the same home to a vibrant and gentle love for him.
She had to get it all out.
She needed to reach down and take all that was within and put it outside of her.
She needed to **** what was in her.
She needed to purge all of the bad that was disguised as good.
These pretty butterflies fluttering through her belly had to leave.
Her stomach and her throat and her heart were no longer their flying grounds.

First, a few fingers reached
but didn’t get the job done.
Then a forceful full hand with nails full of flesh and blood tried to make its way to the creepy little critters that made her stomach tickle with sadistic love
but to no avail.
Finally, a full hand and half a forearm tore through the esophagus and the stomach lining.
At last, she could get them all out.

She sat hung over the toilet with a satisfying pain
that a pretty devil told her was the only way to get the buggers out,
the feelings out.
Slumped over the toilet,
she noticed there was a sweet and sour twinge of numbness dressed up as happiness running through her mind.
Hundreds of dead, black, sad butterflies floated at the top of the toilet.
They were all out.

She didn’t have the feelings anymore.

Decide the course of the love therapy, you'd subject my body, soul and spirit,
my body is eaten by the poison weeds of passing moments, I am a dissolving island,
elate my spirit, still my mind, calm my body aches with love, the aura that ever surrounds you,
begin with your conquering lips, kiss me head to toe, let me drain in to you and sink in oblivion.

Why does my back hurt so badly
Every morning?
Is it because all night,
Through my dreams
I am carrying you home?

Or is it because
On waking,
I break a little more each morning,
Crushed by your absence,
Snapping under the weight of guilt?

Soon I will be spineless...like you.

making love should be effortless,
like sand ebbing through achy fingers.
floating upon pillows made of feathers
and fairies.
making love should be steady, yet
untamed. like forest fires that lick
and clean branches,
kissing the trees with ashy goodbyes.
making love should be heartbreaking,
like the taste of salt with no warning,
the crushing of bones underneath
the ideas of love, and lust, and lost.

making love should be like it is with you & i,
your fingers in my hair, your stubble upon my *******,
your arms enclosing me, never letting me go.
making love should always be like it is with you & i,
the quick, the slow, the kisses, the moans,
the sweet and salty veins sprouting,
covering us in nothing but sadness, wanting.

making love should be everything, and completely nothing.

pop me in your mouth, and tie me
like a cherry stem.
i am your ******, the thoughts in your mind
that are on your tongue, but you have to bite downhard,
because. (because)
smear my eyeliner so i am soiled, outside.
rip my clothes (these ones, not those), so i am pillaged, forever.
toss me, grip me, you can unleash those naughty fantasies,
i am the therapist that will lick your
wounds (with salt & lime, and coconut pie)
find my breaking point, if you can.
lay me to waste when you’re through,
and i’ll be your ***** cat, purring machine.
until your ready to
pounce
again.

You are always inside me.

We are never

Together.

I am ever beside myself.