What makes us leave what we love best?
What is it inside us that keeps erasing itself
When we need it most,
That sends us into uncertainty for its own sake
And holds us flush there
until we begin to love it
And have to begin again?
What is it within our own lives we decline to live
Whenever we find it,
making our days unendurable,
And nights almost visionless?
I still don’t know yet, but I do it.
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
The gun is still hot. It’s nearly three in the morning & I’m turning over the mattress again, changing the sheets. I bought a new rug. I did what I said I’d do. I can feel your eyes from all the way over here & I think it’s shameful to be able to find you like this. I think that hell is found in always feeling you when you’re here & this is the first time in a long time. The blood lets me know that you’re here, my twisting gut tells me something, but maybe I am wrong.
I didn’t know you had been here then either. I should have felt that. I mean saw that, because I did feel you. But I didn’t see what you wanted me to see. Would you still give a girl the moon if you could? By girl, I mean me. By moon, I mean the moon. I want the moon. I want to carve a house into a crater for us to live in. I want to say that I’m sorry for everything I did & didn’t do.
Here is my tongue with raspberries, here is my tongue without them. I’d let you scrape off my taste buds with your teeth. I’d like to have a mark of your mouth in an “O” shape on my left butt cheek. Butt cheek is a funny word—so is absence.
I’d like to write a new love poem. I’d like to give them something they’ve never heard before. Maybe you can be the wolf & I can be something you ate. Or maybe I’m the wolf & that is why I can still feel you kicking inside of me. I’d spit you out if I could. I’d set you free just so I could ask you to come back.
I ask you to come back anyway. I don’t even know who I’m talking to these days, but I keep talking. What else is there to do?
if u dont like hickeys or ass grabbin we are a no