His hands were in my hair
shoving my head down,
(falloutboy has never been here before)
I turn my face,
I'm stitching myself inside out,
and all I can come up with,
is stained betrayal.
His teeth are rough on my neck,
I imagine they're metal,
and somehow, it hurts less.
His hands are on my hips and he's pulling me backwards,
I'm screaming in my head,
my skin is cracking, and molding.
run my fingers along my edges and look at the bruises.
I throw my arms over my face,
and his mouth is by my ear and he whispers,
(he offered to pay me,
twenty dollars would be to much.)
I feel the wall against my head,
before the rest of me follows,
and crumbles like old newspapers
(someday, I will be in the yellow pages,
soaking through the paper,
and smiling through the words)
onto his kitchen floor.
(and still I do not scream,
as if the last lesson,
and I was never in the mud,
with my jeans torn off me,
with blood on my thighs)
his face blurred,
in two different directions,
as his jeans unzipped,
and I stopped breathing.
he blurred into a past,
and I blurred into a future,
and the world stopped at the present.
I'm choking on pleases,
and I'm barely breathing through the tears.
His hands were soft on my face.
(jesus looks on,
and his palms are burning black,
I smoke his skin in a snake shaped pipe,
and I fly.)
his hands are going up my shirt,
the walls spin in twenty different versions of up&down,
my lighter is heavy in my hand and turns my fingers blue,
as if the color can no longer be contained.
(the story will never end;
jesus kisses the bruises on my hips)