it’s hard
to dig my teeth into overripe fruit and not think of you

and the way you dug your teeth
into the overripe fruit
of my throat.

 

my neck howls
for fresh wounds, a masochistic

way of revealing how i feel.
a rush left unsatisfied.
it's hard to compete
when i don’t know if you recognize

the blood running down my lips
as being for you.

 

overripe activities
kept secret
yet i go days picturing
your teeth in her neck
so as to forget the fresh home
you and her keep. a cultivation i have

no place in besides.

 

imagine, bitter
utilization of the cowards way
into my good graces. no apology
yet a heavy-handed reminder.
shared fate, mercurial destiny’s withered hand

guiding us together.

 

i know a fear of venom. dear one,
in your arms lies salvation
from the glans of traitors. it’s
a predetermined urge, this avoidance that reeks

of blood, and spent. 

                                                             —— lie no. 1.

my neck howls
for fresh wounds, a masochistic

way of revealing how i feel.

it's hard to compete
when i know you don't recognize

the juice running down my lips

as being for you.

 

the stars a hollow reminder

set forth in darkness.
we only see each
in the suns reflection.

two shadows doomed to fade.

 

your cheek burns
where my lips last touched it,
into your skin, a shade of guilt
not often seen.
it's my way of asking to be remembered.

 

it's my way of reminding you
that the cowards way out
is not looking me in the eye
when you tell me you don't want me.

 

i know you fear venom. it's a predetermined

urge, an avoidance that reeks
of your blood.

 

an end in silence. 

​