by: october lies (january 5, 2009, 10:42)
"all we do is linger, slipping through our fingers"
- pussycat dolls, "i hate this part (right here)"
i forget why we spend our nights
curled on your bed when all we do is twist
and turn to get comfortable for hours, and
have to force myself to bend the wrong way
and hold myself still just so you'll stop biting at me
with your words, aimed to hurt
so you can later say you love me so
much, but really, you're just trying to mend a wound
that hasn't had a chance to open and the blood
is just spiralling around underneath the skin,
afraid going out in the open in fear of the confrontation i
late at night, you try to count the goosebumps on my skin
and whisper words you believe i won't ever hear
("these burns on your back will always be mine")
and, satisfied, trace the X on my back that i dedicated to
old poem, old troubles.