Reckless And Sensual.

you are not
the eye of
the storm.

you are reckless and sensual
and breath-taking
and eternally dangerous and,
above all, absolutely irritating.
when i am with you, i want to
strangle you - maybe even pull an Edgar Allen Poe,
leaving you dismembered under your own
floorboards.

i have nothing but
hatred
towards you.

though, this does not offer an explanation for the times when
all the burning, self-destructive passion in the universe
crawls under my fingernails and
into my skin, burrowing deep into my veins.
this does not explain why i wake up naked in the backseat
of your car in the field right by your house
every weekend or why i can’t control myself when
i see you unclothed and dazed, when you lay your
rough hands on my waist in a purely
animalistic sense, obviously, claws
tearing in and capturing.
this does not explain a thing.

i do not have a heart for you, either.
i don’t find your mystery appealing or
your kindness endearing. i do not like
any one personal quality about you -
or even any of them at all. my heart does not
flutter nor do my hands waver -
i do not dissolve into a fit of giggles
when i see you or am around you.
goddamn, i don’t even like you.

you could take offence to this,
of course. you could hate me, call me a
whore, threaten me with pathetic bodily harm.
but, let me just remind you of who’s name you mumble drunkenly
on the phone to come pick you up from another bad party,
who’s name you often depend on to cover up your bullshit,
and, more importantly, let me remind you of who’s
name you are screaming when we are both
drenched in sweat and bare, pouring out our desires
and our lusts and our passion into the emptiness of
our souls.

that’s right, baby: mine.

Poem by electricgirls.

Comments