You used to say my eyes were beautiful right before
splitting me open, groin to gullet.
*(Do you still think I’m pretty, baby? Don’t you wanna tell me how
sober I look? Don’t you miss my mouth?)*
Eyes wide shut, I watched April disappear in a
blur of bite-sized catatonia.
*(Tell me how good I feel. Don’t you miss my blood
on your sheets? Pin my arms back, baby, just for old time’s sake.)*
The last time I saw you, you avoided my gaze.
I was lucid for that much.
(Oh, I know you can’t help yourself, baby.)
Tell me again how beautiful my eyes are, love.
We both know how much I like it rough.