I want a friend to give me
a piece of them
sew their soul into my skin,
so I never have to be alone again.
But a piece of heart is a lot to ask.
Maybe I wouldn't be wanting so bad if I didn't hand out the fragments of my heart like a hot mixtape
on slate corners of suburban streets,
Peddling my soul to every woman who offered a passing smile.
Maybe I should slow down and try to love myself for a little while but dealers know you don't get high on your own supply, and baby
love is a drug.
I didn't know I could be addicted to pin ******. Imagery laced with pain and truth, constant reminders of rebel youth. I'll wear them proud for now because "it won't be long till I belong, without all this unlucky skin."