You are a sea of lost causes;
St. Bartholomew couldn't save you.

You’re a masterful
heart cannibal.

Eat your heart out
as you ate me out.

You’re a tomb of lovers who were lost at war.
My lust for you plagues history's corpses.
You made my body love's cadaver.

So, you’re doing what your brain is telling you.
not your heart.

(Oh, really?)

Your words slither across my belly and
down into my sex;
for life,
I will be infertile.

There was a bloody revolution
in my pants;
your didactic dick
called for a coup d'etat.
Call me comrade when it’s over.
Fitting.

I see through you. You are a fucking mess
and I am the second law of thermodynamics:
I manifest a tendency
toward your decay and disorder.

I should have known better
then to have asked for a ride; you committed manslaughter.
You forgot to open my door, my dear.
I’m road-kill in the giant parking lot.

You fucked me in the frozen food aisle.
The cashier told me it was the only way you could get it up:
with the frozen artichoke heart.

Aren't you tired of waking up next to
strangers in the bruised fruit aisle?

I’ve made a new tab on my porn site
called pussy explosion:
There are videos of us
Every time you make me cum,
my heart explodes

Mr. Ticking Time Bomb,
I wait for your explosion, too.

On my worn knees,
ankles bound,
mouth gaping open.

You couldn't do it better if you were a priest,
and I,
a small boy seeking salvation
through your second
coming.

The fuck fest
in my bed every night will be
in your honor.

Instead of lubes and condoms,
I will wear a slut's wet suit
and slide in and out
of men's lives
thinking of you.

You fed me
toasted hope bagels.
You turned me
inside out, wore me out
as a Halloween costume.

Trick or treat.

Go ahead and feed me a fistful of candied,
bloody glass shards;
you know i will swallow whatever you give me.

I'm a putrid sea of shit storms for you.

I'm trying to flush and move on, but
even the toilet paper is mocking me.
the foul awakening each morning is this:

even in this stench

I’m

Still

Waiting

For

You.