II

They have a name for people like you. They have a lot of pointless, pretty words. They have bullshit. They have lies. Because underneath that make-up I know what you are. You're a cancer. You're a fucking disease, and you're the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are broken, just as broken as I am on the inside. But you deflect. You're in control. You're the one asking all the questions and you're the one telling all of the lies.

I imagine you breathless with your knees to your shoulders and my mouth against your neck. You're wearing nothing but bruises on your neck from my hands. Your eyes are open as wide as your legs and you're begging me to steal every single last breath from your body and to taste every last drop of your spit. I've tasted your body, and you taste of sweat and lust and heaven. I've tasted your blood from when I've bitten down on your lip to get you going. You gasp. Another breath, stolen.

I hold you down by your wrists and you act as if you want to escape but you are where you belong and you know it. There is nothing more to want than being used to you. Because your body is mine but you don't understand. Because just as your body is mine, my soul screams your name when the nightmares come because you are my only rescue.

But you have this way of destroying me. Not calling back when I'm at a payphone in the pouring rain stranded on unknown streets tasting like liquor. It's the only way that I can replace your taste. Nothing burns when it goes down like you do. Not even shame. And then you come around.

And I hold my arms around your body and you tilt your head back as your lips meet mine. I know that I'm terminally ill with a broken heart but I keep coming back for more. Cheap motel rooms with broken sinks and showers with brown, dirty water. The bed is littered with burn holes from cigarettes. Forgive me.

Because you are just as diseased as I am. There is nothing healthy about me at all. But I aspire to be your everything. I aspire to make you choke on three words. I aspire to be the pillow that smothers you. Suffocate. I mean this figuratively of course.

You are the ocean. And I am the breeze. I am the storm. We are homewreckers and heartbreakers, the both of us. We are broken, tormented and tortured souls. But we are so right for each other. In the end we might destroy one another. But until then we are...