I fake passion
to play the part
A tortured lover in a lovelorn arch
Is it I that you desire?
Or the
edge that you despise?

I’m sure I’m not any better,
drawing blood between your lips
The bruises of your skin
The entanglement of your care
Like my fingers in your hair
fuck
fuck
fuck
All we do is fuck
and talk about the fuck
Complain about the fuck
and want another fuck

I put all my fucking worth
in the closeness of bodies

But wood after the rain
does not spark the
same

Tortured by your name,
I do not feel the same

passion