tailor-made abrasion

 
Your lips are razors

and you run them
carelessly
across my body,
debriding the
lie-patterns
we wove into my skin

Patterns (lies) like:
I wouldn't put myself through
you again.
it'll never be the same
it's not worth it
there's too much distance now

it'll never be as ... as...

are sliced so quickly
there's not pain until after
bed is soaked red

and the outline of my body
secured in your mind

I taste my frailties
on your red mouth
as the truth-scars
you ripped in me
fester like offal
on a sidewalk vendor's cart.

truth that says
I have learned
to go on.

And yet I'm here.

Because, if you want me,
I will fucking put myself
through you until there's nothing
left, and

it's different this time,
instead of playacting and
making sweet fuck in the grass,  

the intent is murder
and sex
like psychopaths,
proving through goddamn acts
that you've always been worth it

you've always been worth my
self preservation

Goddamn you.

and it's different now,
better now, because
the bitter edge of
missing goodbyes
and withheld words
are a fucking aphrodisiac
panting through my legs,
while I bleed out
in a heartsick maelstrom

but never make
eye contact
with the truth

never make
eye contact
with you

no matter how many lies I sew into my skin
no matter how many...
(so many…)

Your lips are razors,
my love.

Run them along the ragged
seams of my body
and find
the truth.