He stayed in my bed when I told him to leave
and he would not listen.
He grabbed the hair I should have cut
and his fingers felt like thinning shears.
He kissed the lips I wished were poison
but he did not wither (only I did, under my now filthy white sheets).
He undressed me, taking off the shirt I borrowed from my best friend,
and did not understand why I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
He stayed in my bed when I asked him to leave, again,
and he would not listen.
His hands trespassed on holy land.