Because you are you
you don’t love me
is a nicer word for
letting your dick do the thinking
back-handed compliments
smack and slap
lips with a smile

Stupid me is struck
by the attention
shallow wanton needs
for a fleeting flirt
so I’ll make you suffer
I’ll crush your throat
with my nice new heels
but maybe you’d like that
you sick fuck

Yet I come to you
when my body is empty
under inky dark nights
expel shame with my hands
I trace your shape
in my own, a ghost
known by the lines of
sweat down my spine
or are those angry tears
a realization
that I am you too

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