HOPELESS

My breath
is a scream
and your fingers
are a
tactile hallucination
tracing outlines of secrets
hidden in my curved pulse.
I count my shivers
backwards,
each
one-
by-
one,
waiting
to tell you,
I love you—
but
words always taste better
in your just-open mouth
and we both know
your eyes are turning
a new colour
of stone
cold.
Violent delights
have violent
ends,
and ours are choked
limp
and lost—
with you,
even the sex
turned into a sweat-shimmering battle
for extinction
as the bruises
find a way back in.
Honey-sweet soft
kisses
are no match
for lips
stained with every touch
of your skin,
the begging for more,
the hot blood thickening,
the slash marks
of a liquid whip on pale skin—
white on white,
like the thoughts
you don’t write
on letters
you won’t send.
Torn hearts
and broken minds
are your favourite lingerie
and to you
love
is a thief
who only ever
takes
what you wish you never had
times three.

2 Comments

  1. “like the thoughts/ you don’t write/ on letters/ you won’t send.” — this passage lacks the violence of some of the earlier ones, all powerful, by the way, but this one expresses for me the deepest futility and pain. (also,the photo complements the poem very well.)

    Liked by 1 person

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