dead flowers.

it was painfully perfect.
i let my heart lay on youre bedside table
while you kissed me.
your words were like familiar music
but your touch was new.
passion bounced off that cheap lampshade
and onto our whiskey drunk hearts.
he said, youre dangerous."
i said, "you have no idea."
he once told me "he'd eat my soul."
little does he know i left
"my heart hanging from a string on his necklace."
I knew this would all end up bleeding.
but this is nothing shy of my story.
i find love that is wonderful at causing pain.
i know this, im really good at it.
ive been doing it like a job since i was
16 and lost my virginity in geoffs schuelers basement.
the pain is worth it at some point.
i drink, smoke, eat, and snort passion.
that touch- no matter how little or how long-
is the best high.
now its a constant withdrawl.
back to that night---
youre hands were full of me
and the room was lit up by the cities light,
casting a perfect shadow on your tattooed chest.
the bed smelled like old love and dead flowers.
i stripped down to my soul for you
and you called me and angel.
i could feel the heat
of your breath on my neck bone
when you whispered in my ear.
your hand found home behind my head
and my head found home on your chest.
ive found myself infatuated with
something completely outside
the realm of reality-
im not the slightest bit suprised.

ps id like to thank the city lights for the night light.