Isn't this a different version
of the game you used to play?
'If I only did this
he'd want to sleep with me again?'

If I only,
If I only,
If I only,
He would.

But you should know better than most
That he won't.

The eggshells started in the sink
But wound up on the floor.
I walked into the room
And they flew at me once more.
Shrinking my provisions
To the ones within this door.
Even taking out the trash
Is not a safe thing anymore.

If I had known, would I have showed?
Or would I have opted to stay home
Where the dishes can be loaded
Anyway I please
And not at me.

substances won't solve your problems
all them start from where you got them
all them end from where you shy from
you're alone cause
you call no one

no spine
means no adequate help
you always fall
back on yourself
**** your health
you're the only one to die for

scrawl the words that say

NO MORE
NO MORE
NO MORE

you said
it makes a difference
that i give a ****
that i'm trying
to do something about it
that i'm aware

but it doesn't really matter does it?
the result is still the same
my sadness has slowed the pace

almost to a stop.

and all i really want
is to be that girl you wanted

but i turned out to be
just as haunted
just as flawed
just as much of a burden

as anyone else you had to hide blades from.

The last little glimmer of hope dies
The one I've been trying all day
not to keep alive.
And after it
comes a giant wave of disappointment.

This is why
I try to ****** my feelings.
Bury them alive,
Bury them deep.
I don't know how to deal
with the grief
when they die violently
in front of me.
Other than writing eulogies
that no one reads.
Creating gravestones
that no one visits
but me.

He's transfixed by the well-spoken lyrics
of a metaphorical girl
but too tired,
too disconnected
for the feelings
of the girl in the real world right next to him.
Maybe she could text it to him
get his attention for more
than 30 seconds,
Be more like one of those videos
he swipes through
So much
that his finger
twitches to a beat.
But he's beat,
tired,
doesn't have time.

She's no long a mystery he can solve.
He put all the puzzle pieces together
but the image doesn't change.
He's not interested in things
that remain the same
Only new ideas every few seconds,
only stories he can get through in one night.
Anything else
requires too much focus,
too much commitment.

So she swallows and accepts
the few moments in time.
Tries to sum it all up in a thesis statement
Instead of rambling it up in rhyme.
But it feels so ******* insufficient
Every
single
time.

When you touch my body
it's just a casual pass.
Lust is not the first thing on your mind,
it seems it's next to last.
A mindless passing squeeze,
a casual stick and poke.
Treating my desire
as if it were a joke.

I've never felt so much
like a bag of flesh and bones.
No beauty and
no mysticism,
No tempting burlesque show.
Only breast and hip,
only foot and toe.

I guess I'm the last one left
to caress and pry.
I wish I could kiss my collarbone
and fleshy inner thighs
just right.

But most of all I wish
your passion ate you
when I was nearby.