I take pictures of myself crying

and I sleep in till noon, or not

at all. I write backwards and sometimes

I spell my name wrong but

it's all about the music in the end.

Sex up against the wall with my housemates

listening in to every moan and scream and pant

and the swig of whiskey in between thrusts.

Electric. We agree.

I feel my heart beat faster. And it's your fault.

Topless in front of the open window, laughing like

a child. Freedom. Sugary sweet and the

bite marks you left all over me.

Reminding. Bruised kisses and teeth.

The fair is coming to town but

we're all still drunk from the night before.

Bright lights and cartwheels.

Merry go round.

Go round.

Go round.

The rise and fall.

It's all about the music, you repeat,

over and over in my ear.

Pulling my hair.

And we walk back in the rain, smelling

of popcorn, candy floss, sweat and

gasoline.

You taste bitter and sweet and

everything in between.

I hang on every single word you say.

The golden child.

As I drink myself to death

you hold me tight.

Our bodies close. Skin and bones.

Bones.

"you need to eat more."

You say.

And out of spite I stop eating.

I bruise like a peach

and bear my marks from

our violent love.

Love. Sex. Sex. Love.

I bear the marks like a medal.

I bruise like a peach

and i'm skin and bones.

And you pretend you hate it.

But you don't.

Rock and roll.

Sex and drugs.

It's all about the music anyway.

I take pictures of myself crying.

With your name written across my

body. And send them to you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

We're electricity.