I was almost unconscious
wondering how long it would take for you
to strip every strand of 'go back to sleep'
from your skin
like a cheese stick
and I fell asleep
to the hum of milk curdling.

It felt like I hadn't slept in days.

I swore not to have an opinion
but when you pushed me to speak needle to skin,
I said I thought butterflies should
make cocoons in the spaces between your ribs.

I said I wondered how your skin got so thick, bones so strong,
how your heart pumps so fast,
you told me you were used to it-

and I momentarily pictured you in a meat tenderizer.

With your head draped apathetically over the edge of the counter,
I never told you I loved you
and lied,
but it was never the truth.

We poured ourselves into crystal glasses to tempt each other
with never a doubt in our minds that the poison would start to eat away at our insides.
We liked the sensation of acid on flesh,
of truth burning holes in the things
we were so **** sure we could get away with forever.

I wanted to be more than unconscious when you told me
these hands of ours aren’t made to sculpt masterpieces from each other’s skin.
That we're all unbreakable next to the razor's edge.
I hummed myself a lullaby and wondered where the razor went.

Perhaps it will be there for you as well as I wasn’t and perhaps
you can learn to love it as well as I didn’t.
I wanted to be more than unconscious
when you told me you already had.

This blood sport love is not sustainable.