He left his mark on me,
angry and aggressive.
His clutching fingers scrambling for purchase
on my delicate ivory skin.
He laid his claim like one would mark territory,
so that every absent touch would bring back
the phantom of his teeth,
haunting my flesh like a ghost.
Under covers at night it lit a spark in me,
but the dawn broke with my smile
shattering with the burden of my regrets.
I am filled with such shame
that the break in my skin
is a wound that winded it's way deep into my gut.
Your mouth upon my skin
raises the bile in my throat,
and I am sick of lust.
I am sick of the memory of you - of us -
and if I could wish away the night,
I would.
If I could wish away my fluttering heartbeat,
the fumbling darkness,
the alcohol in my veins,
I would.
I would wish myself away
in a second
because the thought of your hands on me
repulses me.
I am sick of your face,
burning in my mind.