Crawling Over Broken Glass

She’s all kinds of fucked up, telling me we’ll run off to Vegas    
for a show girl wedding. And I’m her latest fixation;    
a temporary fixture in the wall to pin pretty things to    
when life gets too hard to look at    
     
While she’s riding the buzz on top of the buzz    
after the low she’s just done an accidental upper from      
and it’s never just cruising; it’s never just, hey    
and it never helps that I have all the right words    
     
While I’m pretending she doesn’t turn me on      
with all her fucked-up-ness, and I promise I’ve never wondered    
what it would feel like for her to slam me against a wall      
so hard I can feel it in my bones radiating out from my…      
     
And I swear I’ve never pondered on her lips, or how desperately  
I want to taste them mingled with the blood      
of our overwhelming passion, with talk so dirty, I can barely      
allow myself to think it…shh!    
     
And I want not to want to make love so slowly      
I scream with frustration at the tease I’m begging her not to stop      
while my vision blurs and maybe if I’m lucky    
I’ll pass out with pleasure and taste what heaven is meant to taste like      
     
Oh glorious self destruction don’t let me love, don’t let me feel      
the beating of my own heart, when I want the illusion    
that this could never be more than a beautiful obsession    
to be crushed as easily as a butterfly’s wings      
     
While she’s telling me I’m the best kind of fucked up      
and I want to feel her body crushing against mine so hard      
I can’t breathe for wanting, while I let her smack me around      
like the little masochistic bitch I am, though don’t want to admit to being      
     
And I hate that she knows me, and that she could send me to hell      
and have me begging for more, before I bail out the window    
only to crawl back in over the broken glass, telling her to love me      
like she’s never loved anyone before…      
     
© Indie Adams 2012