it hurts when he pulls me in so tight,
like every nerve from lips down is going to snap into broken hearts
and rejection. whispering love into his selfish mind,
resurrecting every time I was left behind to bear the injection
all on my own. it's a shot of anguish that pulls me together
into strength and I've got fists for protection from the rape I've got
to undergo. (baby, why can't you let me go fuck around with someone else?
does it hurt that much to let me be (on my own and) safe?)
walking home is a trial of modesty, pulling on a mask of jeans
and baggy shirts. I'm lighting up one last cigarette to save my death
for something medical, but he's ringing in my mind like a never-ending
s l o w d o w n i s to
i can't scream him out of my sheets and when my head starts to spin
i've got no more strength to find a way out of my cell. lip gloss smeared like
sugar on my fingers and his strong hands are grasping my hip bones.
feeling skinny, i shake with addiction and let him pull me into his satisfaction,
even though it hurtshurtshurts. there's nothing left anywhere in me,
with me, near me. it's a black hole of suppression and the love is fading away
with sunrise. lights flick on and I'm sleeping alone.
walking home is a trial of modesty, but I think the bruises might
give me away. (that and the permeating smell of the wrong kind of high).