I was 7 when I learned the art of touch
but that doesn’t make me ******’s sister

I was 14 when I thought I figured out *** and love
were one in the same

so tell me why everywhere you touched me
I began to turn black like a the band of a fake ring on a child’s finger

I began to turn a colour I could not wash off
with soap and water

the darker I became the more you began to
smell of rotting meat left out in the sun

you were festering and the holes in your heart
burned through to your skin

sometimes in my sleep
I still smell you waiting in the darkness

and sometimes in the shower
I still find deep marks I cannot ever seem to get rid of

Everyone in this life might mistake the look in your eyes as love
But I will never be so easily fooled again