Words turning stale,
rolling the sour taste around
inside your mouth.
Nausea mixing in your gut, but
how do you explain it to someone,
that what you want doesn't even matter?
Anxiety and depression already
occupy your bed in the worst kind of three-way,
and there isn't any room for someone
who could actually love you.
How do you tell someone that it's like
**** without a safe word, that the only part
they would ever get to play is aftercare,
damage control?
The poison in your mind infecting everything;
it's just better to love from a distance.
There's less blood.