its the way you fuck me into the floor,
the bruises & the blood you leave on me and i stutter
your name against my palm and choke (you devour me
and i am a prettyfilthy mess under your hands) you are
a canvas, and i am not an artist and i rip at your skin with my
too-short nails. you are not the kind of drug i wanted. (i’ve settled for less)

--- i need broken promises, and i am not going to
color this with pastels and prettypinks, this is not
a romance, this is violence. (you throw me like
i am some kind of cheap whore. painted and
outlined against the shaky bricks in your wall)

you wear me like a complex.