each of your fingers has a body count
of girls wrapped around them,
waiting for you to tuck them in the crook of your neck
girls who are stone cold sober
trying to break your ribs and get to your heart

i am one of those girls
who are naive enough to think it is any warmer inside
and that you are capable of radiating anything
other than temporary lust

and it is disgusting that you think
you can store so many inside your mouth
under your tongue
inside your cheek
because you know they all would probably **** for a spot
and you slowly feed on their insecurities
chipping away at their self esteem

then you spit them out
that is, if they haven’t died in your palms
and they are colder than ever,
if it is even possible
your fingerprints embedded in their skin
they all carry the same scars,
but none of them have thawed enough
to see how truly ugly you are

you are the boy who had me wrapped around his finger
writing poems about how obscenely evil you are
when i know i am going to see you tomorrow
and grasp at your fingertips, trying to claw my way into your heart.