he is a tattered heart with blood-stained teeth. he needs you to be silk sheets and a pink sunrise, but you are neither of those things. rather, you are canvas constructed of guilt and hot desire. he ruins his ****** hands down your neck, your *******, your thighs. you learn to love the taste of all the hurt he's caused because it's

all for you.

he needs you to be a proper woman, strong and dignified with rose petal cheeks and a bounteous womb, but you are nothing more than a glutton, consuming every spewed whimper born through impatient fingers grasping at his royal bones. you dig your nails into his flesh, you burn constellations into his back, you make sure his eyes are closed.

you are nothing that he needs, but you are everything right now. you wear the revelation like a drunken king adorns a crown: with pride, with arrogance, without feeling its weight. you straddle his waist and sink onto a throne made for a worthier queen. there is red hot blood in his veins, golden ichor in yours—you are not of the same world. the stars rattle when he breathes your name.

they die out when he considers how you are not the one they should be burning for.

I was born into
This disjointed world,
Already heartbroken;
And given only
Sixty years or so
To reckon therein.

Soon after
Her vampire kisses
Injected sweet lust
Into my veins

She peeled apart
My aorta
Like pulled pork

And vanished
With the last fragments
Of
Whatever heart I had.

I don’t think there’s a day
that I don’t crave to be
the center of your world.
And how if nothing else went right,
it’d still be okay.
And how I hope more than anything,
you will feel the same pull to nothing,
to a black hole that will swallow us up,
turn us into intertwining matter,
and keep us safe amidst the entropy.

And it is now that I realize,
an escape would be out of the question.

The world has been shaken
and thrown like a snow globe.
The glass container
contaminated by foggy fingerprints,
analyzed by prying eyes.

So, it’s easy to believe
that this is where we’ll stay.
It’s easy to feel trapped
when every door is hidden.

The only thing left I hope for
is that the feeling of
finding and keeping a soul
that warms you up is real,

And not just a story
they tell us to make
believe that this
isn’t all there is.

The drip  
And delicacy of my eye
You imagine
It holds pity
You imagine  
It holds your favor  
And that I intuitively reach  
For your nerve
  
Some nerve
  
In all my resolve
A posture built of stone
And the stalwart mortar
Experience  
My wisdom sticky with it
  
Even against the Great Wall  
You helped lay
From cornerstone  
To turret and my stare from it
Even against this  
You blow
  
Silly fragile fragments
You expect  
To crumble tumble down  
  
And long gold locks  
Like the hair
I used to wear
You believe might spill over
Return to your pull
Of grooming  
Tight plaited  
Twisted curving
Insecurity  
  
Inebriated wit
Calculated curiosities  
Woven tightly  
Into my thought process  
When puberty
Hit with urge
  
Remorse
That I had left certain things behind
  
Laughter with you
Inside jokes
And shared knowledge  
A privilege meant
Only for us
  
An isolationist  
In your measure
Your way with me
You had  
But not quite  
proved  
Cold calculating  
Alienation
  
But oh father  
How I’ve sinned against  
The nature of things
  
In my head
To my knees  
With private mournful  
Accusations  
With the need for  
absolution from it
  
But with absolve  
I dissolve
  
So return to my eye
The drip she shines
When let loose
That shine  
She is not pity
And she is not for you
  
To my knees
With other things
  
A world who’s axis  
Is not you
A prayer to a God  
Who’s strangest angels
Do not sing  
In your tonality
  
A hallelujah chorus rise
Over your horn
And its shrill  
Efforts  
My walls
They hold