Maddening that it makes you feel pure
the security of your damp, decrepit sanctuary
and your empty, stomach churning words.
A pathetic refuge for you and your damage.
I’d set fire to your home
if I thought it would phase you.
I’d run sandpaper across your tongue
if you wouldn’t revel in the pain.
Unsettling how it doesn’t feel the same now
when you pull my hair
or the pace of your pulse.
A growing distance that you crave.
I’d banish you to the cosmos
if they wouldn’t bring you peace.
I’d gauge out your adoring eyes
if you wouldn’t turn them into art.