“The worst kind of love is when you love
through the disgusting—
when you’re bad for each other
and you know it
and you keep on loving
and it tears you apart.
The worst is when you can’t get enough of it.
You’re running to their mouth
like you’re looking for a fix;
you promise yourself,
just one last time.
But the last time becomes the next time
and you wear their bruises
in a ring around your neck,
and tell yourself it’s poetic
to wear hickeys like a hanging.
You try to shake them from your bones,
but they’ve soaked into the marrow,
made sponges of your femurs.
Your legs give out at the knees
and you call it love.
They say the warning sign
is when you think you need one another.
They say that’s where it starts.
But you’ve never loved by halves
and you don’t know how to stop.
The worst is when you lose yourself loving
but you have always loved that way
and you don’t think there’s anything
you can do about it.”
—2 AM Sunrise, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
I don’t want anything from him
except his red apple heart.
Something I can bite into quickly
without making a mess.
If you asked him,
he’d claim he’s never met anyone
kinder, so please don’t say anything
All I want from him is his love.
The fruit of it. The sweet stuff.
All I want is to keep it inside of me
and then move along, because
I don’t like being touched more
than I liked being looked at.
Is it so terrible that I want
to be bigger than him? That I
don’t want to want more than
I need from a person?
I don’t think that’s bad, but
people keep telling me to
apologize for chewing with my
mouth open, so what am
I supposed to do with a whole
heart in there?
How am I going to eat it quietly?
Just give me the thing with no
hands so that I can go to sleep
without them around my neck.
I don’t want the body of love
like I used to. I don’t want to
Well, maybe I do, but not now.
When I close my eyes, I’m a statue
that he wants to run his tongue over.
When I close my eyes, I cut it off
and keep it.