I. : With Love:
Piss and vinegar; piss and vinegar is the reason I fell in love with you. You screaming to the pool boy about this cheap-ass wine he sold you, while your pulsing garter snake is turning the water around your waist a telling shade of purple.
Piss and god-damn vinegar.
And I fell so deep into your eyes that I broke my neck when I hit. I’ve got shatters of my spine in the dry flakes of skin I shed like disease. I can smell your frustrations from the night before on your hands, a salty sweet mixture of semen, whiskey, and tears. I can watch your lips for hours as the spittle flings from them during your misdirected rage. Imagine riding those strings right back to where they came, that I might bathe in your saliva and roll across your tongue, one more morsel for you to devour in your pointless search for control.
I want to be the crumpled sticky napkins that fill your wastebin.
I want to be the things you break.
I can’t think of any better purpose for me, than to become a smear along the road beneath the car-wreck that is you.
Piss and vinegar,
Piss and goddamn vinegar.
2. : RE: With Love:
I want to be the neck of the bottle you tongue like you’re giving head.
Not for the obvious reasons,
But because I want to be the crutch you lean your life upon.
I want to be the prosthetic for your self-respect.
I want to be the reason you lose hope in romance.
I want to be the secret you tell no one,
Not for fear of it ending,
But for fear of it not.
And when we make love,
It will smell like semen and latex,
It will sound like desperation,
And when we’re done,
We’ll both need separate showers.
I want to be the neck of the bottle you tongue like you’re giving head,
Your addiction,
The thing that’s slowly killing you.
