Do you remember the day we jumped off of the roof,
just to find ourselves in a pile of leaves?

And you asked why I laughed the whole way down
and I said
"Oh but love! Did you feel that heavenly breeze?"

Wide eyed,
you shook your head and admitted you had been terrified.

And that's when I knew we were two different breeds.

The way the cigarette smoke seemed to
hesitate in the wind of the half opened car window.
It floated out of your lips in small O's and seemed to linger
on your mouth for a fraction of a second before dissipating into the air.

2.
The glint in your eye as you pushed yourself into me,
my hands wrapped around your tan arms,
pressing white into the hard flesh.
The gasp and the way your hands moved to grip mine,
your lips at my neck,
pulling my hair as it tosses around in your sheets.
The spit, the lack of love, the lack of emotion.
The lust.

3.
The smell of you sauteing onions,
the streetlights buzzing outside your window,
the skulls on the sill illuminated with the glow.
The way the alcohol spills on your hardwood floor
and the way my eyes follow you.
The way my mouth waters for something that can not be fed.

I have never once liked him.
I have lusted for him, and I have desired to hurt him.

I have never once loved him,
but oh, how he has haunted me in my daydreams.

He either deserts me or envelops me at night.

I would move close to him in the early morning,
give him a solitary kiss on the forehead,
on his arm, on his chest;
wherever I felt he would let me touch without pushing my lips away.

He would grip me from behind,
roll us over and kiss me only to get inside of me.

At one point, I thought this was the same thing.

He calls me mystery, wild child, baby blue.

He is turning me into an apology of this girl.

I am baby blood lust.

Marble.
Smooth granite, melting, molding.
Lust making my legs heavy like I am fighting quicksand.

This is my call.

Seduction is an art, just like my body.

With curled toes and an arched back I fight my woes.
I can scrub their hand prints off with hot water,
douse my body in bleach and wake up clean.

My soul is one of the few things harder than my heart.
My soul is a brick through your windowpane
in the dead of a black night.

They call me names they do not know the meaning of.
I do not mind this,
they do not know how lonely I get without fingers exploring me, painting me like I am a canvas in need of
the perfect finishing brushstroke.

I am a woman, not an exceptionally beautiful one,
but I can still make your head turn when I walk by.
Not exceptionally personable,
but i know the power of a compliment,
and I will shower you in them until you think you have won me over.

You have not.

I do not belong to anyone,
I do not even own myself.
Remember you will never truly know me,
so go on and forget about having me.

Last night when we were both drunk off of gin and lust,
you told me I was like the song "ruca" by sublime.

I'm not your only one- but I'm the best one.
And I laughed at that.. Me being the best.

But you said it was true and I could see the sincerity in your eyes.
Baby.
You aren't my only one and you aren't my best one.

But I still burn for you
and when I'm all alone and on my own,
you're the one I think of.
That won't change.

You told me I'm a naughty girl,
a bad girl,
the worst.

That you can't handle me.

That in another life this could work
and I would be solely yours and you would be solely mine.

But what I do when I leave your place is none of your concern.
And truly- you don't want to know.

You call me a mystery and
I will always stay that way to you.
Again.

It's better that way.
Forever burning for you.

I self identify as the blood that drips down your thigh.

I want to fall into your bed and
rest my haunted bones until they
crack under the weight of your lies.

I caught you in a lie that you tell everyone.
You said I was the first person to ever figure it out.

That meant more to me than it should have.

In truth,I will never know you.

But you will never know me.
That's why you call me mystery.

God used to love me best.

He says I'm a fallen star.
He says I'll make it big one day,
I say it is true because I always get what I want.

Except for him.

And this is when I take a big gulp of the drink
I am pretending is not way too strong and
it is burning the back of my throat and
I think this is what hell is.

I do not burn in the hell of myself,
I have learned that hell is other people.

He tells me I am perfect and if this is what he wanted,
he would put a ring on my finger.

I have heard this many many times.
I am never the one.

It's not so much that I want to be,
I'd just like to have a choice.

I'd just like to burn in my own hell once in a while.