RUSH OUT

Answer me, madly and crazy,
call of the wild like this ache inside.
It’s a little rush, babe –
it’s running from your fangs of heart,
the bite that always tempts the numbness –
but I liked special occasions of destiny.
It’s a bitter story of silence and phases,
like the push and pull of waxing and waning,
we’re both suffering from the dark places of lunacy.

It’s a tempting situation, babe –
I fight sense with a punch of hysteria:
it hits like your stale, grateful nicotine,
like invisible power in watts of blackness –
I reached out to touch and saw a mirror.

You light up the fourth cigarette and call it over,
give me a reward of a raspy voice and a hole in my chest.
I need compressions, suffocation,
I need to play a game of rejection,
I need your last cigarette to fake this.

It’s a stunning life here, babe –
Meteor showers rain down around us,
coyotes play their silent act of tip-toe,
shooting stars fly by the chirping hills.
I breathed in the smoke of fire,
choked on trying to breathe without you,
you with my tiring time, my wasted hours.
I try my hardest to regret the words,
words of impact, of hurt, thrown at you.
I had nothing left, you took more than ever,
tell me, what was I supposed to do?

He touches me with bruises on my waist,
punishment in the finest fornication.
The things we left undone, he takes
away in seconds that take infinity.
He kisses with pressure and reminders,
he is not you, he does not linger
like blood unwashed in my bitten nails,
or the sensation of where your hands roamed.
And for this, I adore him, but not like
comfortable silence in open arms,
rather the enemy I could learn to conquer,
the one who slipped from my shaking fingers.

I push him into the ground over and over again,
you made me need a new punching bag.
It’s not enough to shake the
foundation of mentality anymore,
you take my humanity with an easy passage of bliss.
It’s the ignorant bitch, ignorance for this,
it’s the demonic anchor sinking in my bones,
it’s the hot stone thrown at your back,
the lonely hours of a morose dawn.

He kisses like Judas, like a predicted regret,
like guns falling to the ground until
safety is measured by broken protocols,
he kisses like panicked shots fired,
like there was no choice but this,
until it tastes metallic in the mouth,
and we all knew it was coming.
He uses his hands without hesitation,
I am a spread out, shaking explosion,
and he tries to stop the blow.

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