It's sadistic,
but it helps to know you hurt too.
My heart pleads to curl up in your arms,
cry until I can't breathe.

But instead I kiss you.
I need a relief from the maelstrom in my head,
a release of tension in my chest.

I expect you to push me off,
tell me to leave,
but you don't.
Your grip tightens.
I guess you never thought you'd have this again,
have me.

I want to claw at my chest,
give you my heart and show you,
that the scars have already formed your name.
It's yours now,
it always was and always will be.

I know its tattered and bruised,
weak and unused,
abused and confused,
but will you keep it with you?

I know in the morning I will see my marks on your neck,
and want to rip off your clothes and start all over again,
or worst kiss them better.
This was a mistake,
but I don't regret it one bit.