Let's make a deal
that the smoke scented
taste of your tongue
will never leave mine.

my heart has ran out of
"it's fine, whatever"s
my heart has ran out of
"don't worry about it"s
my heart has no more to give
my heart is tired
my heart has ran out of
energy for **you

I found you standing there,
in the corner of a big room.
I could see in your eyes,
you were a flower ready to bloom.

You were ready to go,
ready to see the world.
You were all alone,
just another lonely girl.

Like the moon in the night sky,
so far from the stars.
You were in need of a friend,
to help heal the scars.

And so I reached out,
and you took my hand,
and we explored the high mountains,
and put our toes in the sand.

We ran through the valleys,
and flew through the sky.
We walked through the forest,
and laughed till we cried.

We looked up at the stars,
so far yet so close,
so big yet so small,
we wanted them all.

And so we became stars.

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.

There's something beautiful about freckles and blemishes and imperfections before I'm made up in the morning. There's something right about naked in the mirror; flaws and scars and age that accumulates with the years. I am a story to be read. I've got skin like a song.

Look at me
My skin
Has dealt with a lot


                         I have lived through
                         Tumors and attacks
                         Cuts and bruises from me
                         Bruises from him


My poor skin
In the end
This damage is
All for naught
Because


                            *"Scars are only **** on guys..."