Spit your poison into my open ear, let it leak
through my veins and secrete from
my pores, let it drip upon my
mouth and slither on top
of my tongue, you
know I love the
taste.

I shouldn't be here,
I shouldn't be here,
I shouldn't-

I can't think straight and you're talking a mile a minute,
All I can focus on is the untouched books hanging on your wall.

I can't handle this,
I can't handle this,
I can't-

You got closer and I was still shaking, my body silently screaming to feel your skin graze against mine.

What am I doing,
What am I doing,
What-

Your pupils dilated and your hands became unsteady as they studied the softness of my lips to the warmth in between my thighs.

Oh god
Oh god
Oh-

After all was said and done, you told me it was getting late.
Oh, how I must of forgot that this was all for fun.

It didn't matter to you,
It didn't matter to you,
It didn't-

Your serpentine grin is home to beacons of light that freely cascade beyond the skies of my iris.
Blinded, I am-

Harboring above the sedative call of
my name awaits the serene sting of your lips.
Lingering, for mine-

Your body desinigrates into the sands of time and I become the warmth of black silk sheets and the brisk breeze of a winter night.
Infatuated, we are-

To love a man that gives you the moon and all of the constellations,
                      this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could create skies of jade and violet among any area of his choosing with his own bare hands.

To love a man that gives you a bouquet of twelve burgundy roses,
                     this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could produce a field of golden pansies atop my right cheek with his own fingertips.

To love a man that gives you a kiss beneath a lantern string of lights,
                     this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could shoot the most colorful of fireworks and streamers from the booming sound of his own voice.

To love a man that gives you a floral path from the door to a candle-lit room,
            this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could toss a book through the air and before it struck my skin, it would burst into pink rose petals with a clap from
the same bare hands that painted me jade and violet skies.

It unhinged itself from the unfinished,
half-painted walls in my tiny
room and crawled into my
mind to find a pool of
happy thoughts and
drink them
dry.

Like rippling water distorts a reflection,
the mirror reshapes my
stomach,
thighs,
arms.

Buttons unlatch from their holsters,
The zipper loosens its grip,
Exposed are the  things I despise.

Pinching, pulling, pushing.
Nothing changes, all still there.

Not so much a distorted body,
More so a distorted mind.