a/n: ugh. this isn't my style. it's not poetry, really. just angry stream of consciousness lines, but i still like them. cheers.

---

let's not talk-
come on, baby, feel me up.

my body is your second-hand Eden,
so please: Bite Me Where It Hurts(again).
i insist that you rape me like
you're getting .a.l.l. your money's worth.
i won't say a word.

and if i cry while we quiver,
push h a r d e r,
'cause i'm happy when i'm screaming
and i'm desperate for your
sweat against my skin.
(also, to feel fully like an animal,
i'd rather not use the bed)

i don't want exuses,
i.want.to.be.used-
(like her, and you liked it that way)
i'll be the liquor -and- the empty bottle.

and
if
you
ever

try to kiss me,
then i swear
that i'll fade.

tell me that you're sorry
and i'll ravage the pedal
'til we hit the wall
(i hate it when you drive).

so please,
please,
hold me down
and handcuff me so tight
that i bleed, or i might
just
have to make you mind.

you despise this,
but you can't resist-

i know and - i - p r e s s,
because there's nothing left
to say how much
i want to see us burn.