Witty Gruesome and Probably Down

I'll never kiss Jack like that again
Especially not in front of all of you
And in moments of increasing temptation
Lighting fires in my belly
Churning the stones I use to digest
The hardships in the boiling oceans
I need him to sooth me
Contain me to a mental state
Where the burn he spits
Into the back of my mouth
Can infiltrate erratic philosophy
Perhaps inject the needle
With which those hospital days taught me
That the ambulance can't come around too often
To entertain me for the summer
And as I hold my breath
Prisoner in tightly wound lungs
Hear him yelling into cavernous tunnels
Echoing, "Are we there yet?"
No, for I chose not to release you
As a simply sigh of discontent
I'll reserve you for the off chance
I never need Jack again
And you can be the fresh air