one more time

What do you want? She asked me

It’s simple I thought
I want you to stop fucking yourself up
I want you to give enough of a fuck about yourself
To give a fuck about me

She never could
and all my love couldn’t save her

There is a perversity in loving someone
that doesn’t love themselves
a sense of mutual self-destruction
that makes me want to douse the house in lighter fluid
and burn it to the ground
watching on from the sidelines
as they try to piece it all back together
from the ashes of our sordid, violent memories

A bottle of hot, flat beer sits beside me
just how I like it
just how I like her
warm to touch, easy to swallow
easy to drink

Her hand slides up my frigid thighs
trying to turn me on like a faulty oven
that just won’t burn

Wet lips on my neck, whispering senseless poetry
in my ear
I let her slid her hand beneath my underwear and slip inside
wondering if I can let go of my head enough
to let her get me off
like she used to when I was easy to fuck
easy to love

I kiss her without passion, without heart
and let her fuck me, releasing my bra strap
so she can bite the tender flesh hard enough to make me gasp
and maybe feel something more than obligation

It’s empty and meaningless and when I come I still feel nothing more
than the brief firing of my chemical emotions that spark
like a heart attack victim under the touch of a defibrillator
failing to stay alive

I remember when I couldn’t get enough
and we’d lie in bed and fuck all day
falling asleep in each other’s arms

So when she asks me again
what do I want?
I ponder a moment, and think how I’d love to be free
from this loveless fucking addiction
that I haven’t quite given up on yet
before I kiss her again, with all the empty passion I can muster
and let her fuck me one more time
hoping this time I will feel something different

© Indie Adams 2012