your secrets are heavy in my head,
and i draw blue eyeliner stars at the corner of my eyes,
a connect-the-dots for you, artist.

i forgot to tell you that my lips have rejected
your smile against them and my neck is coated in
sandpaper poison, much like the stitches on my ankles,
and the lipgloss on your cheek.

the beetles voices coat my fingers while i run them
over your collarbones, and wonder if your shoulder blades
will break my wrists. your mouth burns my palms like
sparks from your grandfathers fireworks, and i turn my face away
from your hands.

you tell me you love me and
look at my face, you ask me why i'm so pale,
and i steal some of your beer and light a cigarette while
you draw different parts of me on my jeans.

(the secret is, love, i'm
s t a r v i n g for you)