I am greedy, angry, needy
for the feel of your soft breathing
easing through my freezing lips.
Self destructive thoughts I'm feeling;
for your heart is an intriguing contrast
to the fleeting sense of beating
in this black hole in my chest,
sinking underneath the feeble sense
of overheated thinking for
why you treat me like your dearest,
not a whispered, awkward greeting
or a bleeding, broken weakling.
Though, if you ever came to leaving
I'd be grieving for the teasing thought
of believing that my life
once had a beaming sense of meaning.