Bodies in My Closet

LXIV

The way you said
Let's go home
as if we actually had somewhere to go.
I couldn't fucking stop kissing you
and couldn't fucking stop letting you scratch my skin.
And I can't get your hands off me
as if they were hers.
And I think it was just
the fucking color of your hair
combined with the color of your eyes,
the way they literally glowed
in the reflection of my lights.
I can't stop fucking swearing
because you kind of hated that I did.
I felt a little less dead with you
and that's fucking gone.
You began to be less
and I didn't actually want you anymore.
I still don't want you.
So, why do I still remember you?

- Your Skin Varnished by the Sun