the stars are a blur of candlelight through coarse linen
they strain for attention over tongues meandering
take in their breath, the salt from their tongue
retrace the pattern across chipped paint and porcelain
if the high was enough you wouldn’t be here dreaming of escape
when you let them in they exist there to hurt
(when they take you in you exist there to hurt)
numbing fingers tangled up amongst pulsing veins
(tethered arms that take the place of your former shape)
mistaking vertigo as a shared ecstasy
(deluded in the perfume of tobacco ash and glycerine)
but there is only their reality trembling against gravity
(the memories of other lovers whet your appetite to break)
they can only cum when you tell them you wish they were dead
(you can only cum when they tell you they wish you were dead)
to them your sympathy feels like the headlights of oncoming traffic
relief is the sound of sirens always passing
laying still with the promise of negligence kept
an antidote to the silence that burns at your throat
it’s easier to miss things when there’s nothing left to hold
/// 