Maybe love is,
the blood stains on the wall
and the reeking smell of whiskey
at the break of dawn.
Maybe emotion is,
the quiver in my breath
while you use me
like cheap ****.
It makes more sense
when you cut my eyes
and throw me in
the middle of the sea.
Than
when you hold my face
and say that you love me.
Maybe home is,
your hands around my neck
and the bruises on my back
and feet.
Maybe pleasure is,
the coral shade of my skin,
from when you choked me
till I couldn't breathe.
I'm addicted to the
accidental cigarette burns
every once in a while.
Maybe love is,
lying numb in the bathroom,
on the cold marble tiles.