I'm. Fine.

this body aches
from my mother's house
from the lack of nutrition
from the fresh burns
but i promised I'd stop
but I promised
but you aren't here to stop me.
I'll smoke as much **** as I need to.
and fantasize about the intelligent, soft-spoken
well-worded
perfect everything
he likes my poetry, and says it reminds
him
of Simon Armitage

Your skin, slick with sweat,
Burns where it meets mine,
Which feels to be every piece of me.
It reminds me of the summers sun;
I lay still, afraid you'll fall away,
Your blazing fires with it.
Instead I sit and ponder;
It feels good to be under
Summers harsh heat once more.
My own flesh grows hot,
Blood rushes to give color
To my failing parlor -
I've gone pale, but you!
You've saved me from becoming weak
With your self ignited fires,
Warming me from within.
Lips fall open, tongue is held..
A thank you slips out.

Do I ever miss summers scorching sun..

Your screams always cut the deepest.
Like a hand scolded under the hottest of water.
Cold to the touch as it tricks the nerve into believing--
A sheep in the wolfs clothing as it drifts into searing.
The watery message relays the misery.
The detail all there lain before my eyes.
My skin battered and marred--
Torn asunder with merely your voice.
Thick with rage, smoldering with pride.

Words intended to be used as a weapon, will always wound the feeble.