Don't tell me I'm perfect.
Don't kiss my finger tips
and slide a necklace over
my collar bones.
Don't tell me I'm the one.
Don't kiss me goodbye because
I kissed her with
lust in my eyes just an
hour ago.
Don't tell me that I deserve
so much more than you.
Because I might reply "ditto".

I've been caught in my mind for
so long, that this has become the only
place I understand things.
She feels like he did.
Always breathing this fog
that I could never wrap my
head around, so I mistook it for
a good fuzzy feeling in my gut.
But when I'm not around her
I want to cry for the
secret kisses we shared
that I know I meant. I know I
wanted to feel her lip piercing
between my teeth
and I know that her hands between
my thighs again was something
I craved. But it's not something
I can have. I have something
that is so much better than
"secrets" when really I should
call them ***** lies.
Maybe that's why my tongue has
swollen and I can feel
cavities rotting into my teeth.
I've been trying to keep her
name in my mouth for so long,
rigor mortis has set in
and the decomposition has begun.

With this black mold inside my lungs
I knew it wouldn't be long before
you noticed the wheeze that went along
with me moaning your name.

Now don't tell me I'm perfect
because I can feel your anger
pound in your veins
harder than your dad ever hit you.
I know that when you kiss me
you don't fully push your
body against mine
and your stomach shrinks away
from my hands
because they were on her chest
earlier that week.
And you know it now.
You know now that you
aren't the only person
to have taken pleasure from
my double tongue piercing.
She felt the venom sink
in as I bit her neck and she
shivered, getting high off me
and I got drunk on her,
and we could not be healthy.

But there's nothing I could
say to reassure you
because you have seen the way
I stare at stars,
and she's an entirely different
planet to me.