Maybe because I'm honest with her

Told her how your fists were sculpted by your father's drug addiction
And the way your mother left him

I tell her about the nights my fingers wrap around the softer parts of you
The way in which I reminded you of the boy who ***** you
So it's no surprise when you finally started fighting back

I tell her what your blood looks like running down the crook of your arm
Or the inside of your thighs

I tell her you could never really love me except from a distance
Because I have always been made from razor blades and ****** needles
Too sharp to touch
Never soft enough to hold

What's it like falling asleep beside a ghost?