Go tell yourself you’re sexy, Because I am not there to anymore.

It was a sort of fatal attraction
a nail to my cornea.

I loved every millimeter
Of the penetration

as the nail dove deeper
Blinding me of any common sense I once possessed.
I liked to think of myself as the smoke to your cigar.

You would cradle me between the soft pads of your fingertips
And place your mouth on me,

And inhale deep and hard.

I would then circulate throughout your lungs,
Giving you the prerequisite for a chronic disease.

That way I would be with you forever.
But I was tragically mistaken.

I was not your cancer stick,
I was the one hammering the nail into my eye ball
as you watched the blood spew from the burst of the initial hit
and you’d sit back and laugh at what a fucking fool I was.

That’s one thing I have right for sure, I was hammered.
Intoxicated with lust, not love.
Blitzed for even mouthing those letters,
Twisted for ever feeling comfortable
on a chest prickly, shaven out of vain desire.

You never loved me.
You are not capable.
You only love yourself,

Oh yeah…and the mirror.

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