philophobia

i am locked lips and a flightless raven heart, all defensive and
slippery while you seek to engrave kiss mes under empty stars. between
you and me, i fear your teeth, and your tongue, and your honesty. i
don't trust your sex when my skin is begging, 'touch me.'

don't touch me. don't you f*cking touch me. i am not soft.

there is a war raging in my head, in my lungs, in my mouth on the tip
of my tongue, mutely screaming through the smokey ruins of my frayed
heartstrings and crumbled structure.

i am not soft. i am lust, and war, and (finally) self regard. i am
sin, crooked and misshapen. a kind of rough poetry yet to be
proofread. still, you want to claim my guarded ghost eyes and don't
understand why i'm so elusive. the truth is, neither do i.

"do you want to come over?"

yes. i do. but i won't.

ghost