I’ve warmed enough to grow cold again.
Deeply, I itch my skin.
A fiend, nearing, collapsing, bleeding. Lie to me. Surprisingly sweaty,
palmed cheek bones pulled heavily against this trembling of our lips.
Silently I choke.
Pull harder, kiss harder, tremble harder.
Never mind the booze, I just can’t seem to stomach the taste.
Bitter, sour, memories.
Mental suicide always seems to seep through the skin. With its entirety, my
body begs.
Sexually driven civil war, pushing further into her flesh.
She’ll moan now, dig her fingernails in my back to bring my body closer.
I’d hate myself tomorrow.
I hated myself now.
 
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