i will kiss you then make my way
to another boy’s house.
i will greet four pairs of lips in two days.
every single one of them will feel the same,
though each attached to a different name.
and when i go home
i will feel empty with only myself to blame.

My fingers and lips and mind  
seemingly have dried out,
and thus shut up,
when it comes to you.

I used to seek you out,
then panic when I found you.

Now I don’t bat an eye,
or misstep, and no memories
or flashbacks replay
even when I see you unexpectedly.

In the midst of some sort of
conventionally accepted Stockholm Syndrome
and compulsory forgiveness,
I am angry.
Why should I
have to be bigger and better
towards the ones who
never gave me
the basic humanity which
I inherently deserve?

what a flammable heart
i have.
your fingers matches,
striking against
my matchbox skin.