Thoughts of a depressed in love teenager

This is not a poem

These smiles and corner-eye-catches

snag on my burrs and

I bleed desire for you.

But how do I take something so beautiful

and put it up for sale?

As I fall deeper into your barrel chest I

just want to keep melting into you.

Look at what you've done;

you asked me to write one line and now

I can't stop the syllables dripping from my fingertips.

I'll let him kiss my lip skin off

but it's you my lips remember.

The tendons of my neck will tighten

just the same under his teeth and

my hips will buck as the electricity

spreads down to my feet and

I'll come for him, a little, more than I have for you

but it ain't always about that, is it?

I say this to myself when he pulls me close

and kisses behind my ears like this is something more than

and tells me to feel free to spend the night.

I open my eyes to his snores and the rave lights in his room

ask him to call me a cab.

I know next time I'll have to stay but

I say I need time and

escape to the black car waiting to take me to

a sleep that will at least be my own.

When he buys my unconsciousness too

(how can that be for sale?)

he will wrap his arms around me

I'll will myself to sleep

wake up to his boner to take care of and

I'll close my eyes again.

I want to get fucked up with you and

trip, I mean, or roll together

build memories and know you better;

I tend to force it, though, and so

I'm letting you set the pace while I

take care of business and dream of better days.

I feel a tiny betrayal every time I slip into him

is this the price we pay?

Of course we must die a little

in order to die a little.

And really that's what he's paying for:

the chance to die in my arms after living in them and

curl up to sleep while the world rebuilds itself.

He will wake up and purge;

begin the day satisfied, renewed while

I, the receptacle, dispose of his easy demons.

I want more reasons to feel the way I do about you.

Is that crazy?

This is a confession.

~ anonymous