He was Daniel Kingery to the police.
Daniel Overstreet to his friends.
He was Dollar Dan on the streets.
He was Daniel,
he was wet rough kisses and anger and lust to me.
He found me one day,
18 years to his 37,
he found me when i was still a question mark trying to bleed red.
From behind a lens pointed at my naked flesh
he became a man of mystery,
he became the object of my desires.
I was a young, naive girl who got caught up in
how his pockets were always full- he flaunted it.
The flowers and the exotic dinners and the alcohol and the touch...
oh god, the way we fell into bed,
onto chairs,
into walls.
Then i fell in love on a broken sidewalk.
I was blind to the empty shadows in his eyes,
to the lines he had recited,
to the webs on his face.
I made a god out of a sociopath and i called him "love".
I was his ******, his baby blue.
I became wild under his touch,
manic when he gave me his attention,
suicidal at his leaving.
I was a flower that once was his favorite,
but he left me on the windowsill at a slow, burning wilt
and forgot to water me most days.
Why water a flower when you could have a garden?
Have you ever hated what you loved
until even their existence ate at you?
I have.
