I was too immersed, in love with the idea of love.

My intellect drowning in the fascination of desire.
The ideology of you manifesting the adoration I demand.

Instead deceit trickled from your throat, oozed from your lips to plug my eardrums.

The bitterness of trickery fresh on your tongue for me to taste.
Ignorance played on repeat, rehearsing the sickly sweet tune you once sang.

An epiphany of misconception. The creator of my contorted heart, over dreamed daydreams.

how better
to spend the day while
she sleeps peacefully
but listening to music

the Beatles
in particularly.
Catching a glimpse
occasionally

of her beautiful
peacefulness
wondering
does she dream of me

when I hear
Good Day Sunshine
I ache

to wake her up

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.
Something comforting.
It is a comfort only very damaged people understand- the tacit agreement to cause pain, and to receive it.
Pleasure is for people who have what they want.
But for those of us who are starving, ours is best peppered with suffering.
Being with someone who understands that carries its own worth-
I don't want you to make me feel good.
I couldn't stand it if you did.
I don't want you to touch me gently, or ask if I'm alright, or stop to look into my eyes.
I am starving, and so are you: I want your teeth.
I want you to make me hurt. And I want to hurt you.
I want you to hurt me because I'm not him, and I want to hurt you because you're not her.
We want to see each other suffer because we are starving and we need to feel that someone else is.
Don't hold back. I want you to lower me because I'm too good for her.
Don't love me, don't caress me. Dig your nails in. Drip candlewax on my stomach.
One step down from torture is all I can stand in the way of human connection, when it isn't her.
Punish me for looking at her like a baleful puppy tonight, even as you waited in my room with your soft skin and your sharp teeth.
There is nothing you can do that will be too violent, too brutal, too sadistic.
I don't want to be loved right now.
I am too raw.
I want to be touched. I want to be ruined. Leave marks. Smear lipstick.
Lower me because I am
Too
****
Good for her.
Let this heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs don't matter.
Help me **** it. Help me pin my demons to the bed and make them writhe, and I will do the same for you.
Let's exorcise our loves tonight and banish them to hell.
Let's tell our skin that it is irrelevant.
Let's say "*******" to the things that bind us. I will cut your heart out for him.
I will kiss your scars, not to heal them but to remind you that when you put them there you fought for something, something we both fight for now.
Hurt me. Fight her. Do it for her.
Do it for her because I'm not good enough to hurt.
Do it for her because I'm TOO good to hurt.
Crush me.
You could boil me alive and it wouldn't make up for her, so at least leave me bruised.  
I will give you what you need, and you will give me what I need: not love, but contact.
Please,
Let my heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs
Don't
Matter.

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.

Dazed, mind filled with xanax dust.
I'm questioning who I am
When I look in the mirror I do not see myself
I see a stranger
With bags under her sunken in eyes
And her eyes, they look sad
Lifeless, dead
And her body
Her body's ugly, fat, disgusting
Covered with marks, scars, burns.
But as I look at this person in the mirror
I am over came with the urge
To hurt her, to feed her pills and potions
Because some how I think I am her
I am the sad girl in the mirror with the cuts down her arms
and the bags under her eyes
I just don't want to believe it
Believe I've wasted away
To xanax dust and cuts.