I've been to hell and back and I can
honestly tell you that the only consistency
is inconsistency
the only stability is instability,
the only perfection, imperfection.

I am not beautiful enough for you anymore.

I don't see the color in the flowers which line the path to a supposed never-ending fairytale.
Knight in shining plastic, melting with each step that I take.
I can't seem to shake the nightmare which depicts your heart slipping out of my hands;
Keeping it there is about as difficult as trying to grab water and cup it without letting it slip through the creases of my fingers.
Yet, just like the water falling through the cracks of my blank palms, the loss is inevitable.

Your body is hard to the touch
but easy on the eyes.
I'm a *** slave in disguise, you don't
owe me anything more than your
throbbing companion.
Fed explanations filled with thrusts,
moans and scratches,
Resolutions created through the exhale
of your sleeping body.
I'm no more than a cage to poke your stick into and you want me to bite you out of frustration.
I'm reminded of my role: lay down. Shut up. Don't look at you. Take it. Roll over. Take it. Take it. Take it.
A drunken sigh of satisfaction sneaks out through your lips as if it was trying not to wake your tongue,
as any disturbance will cause my body to surrender to you, against any will I have left.
The desire to be the one you surrender to is slowly passing.
Because with each breath I hold, I find myself still gasping for air.

I hope he doesn't get it on anything valuable.