baby, I can take you places.
baby, i can hold your hand, walk you down the sweet sixteen road, rose-petaled road,
smells like bubblegum and dopamine and youth road;
or; the road of what we know isn’t innocence but still care enough to pretend like is.
as we walk, baby, I can afford to focus on you just on you
because I already know where we, where this, is going, and know you do too, so;
when you look back, i can smile at your jokes before they even leave your mouth because you’re
just. that. funny
on the road, i’ll look at you any way that you like, wear
doe eyes, siren eyes, head eyes you'll get exactly what you want eyes, or;
close them just when i need to, right about when
the ugly thing that’s been growing in your belly starts showing up in your gaze and i can’t think about it anymore not without crying
and, baby,
you’ll do just the same,
pretend not to notice won’t want to notice
how i'll feign my concerned surprise so convincingly
when the road
-beautiful road,
adolescent-daze-stretched-summer- soda road;
takes us to the pit of a stomach no one's lit up for weeks,
like a children's room no one's cared enough for to clean,
hollow and grimy
and just so, so, fucking scared
when the road gets there
-and it will-
i’ll tell you it’s alright, and i’ll ask you to stay, beg you to,
and, well, if that isn’t enough,
i’ll
flirt more, smile more, let you brush my wrists more
and if more isn't enough, well,
I'll kill the reflexes that scare you,
with the knife made of alcohol drugs you
you name it, i promise
but, still,
if that isn’t enough, baby,
as I’m lying down, know this
shirt still has a button you can take off,
and one after that,
if that isn’t enough it still has fabric you can rip and tear and stare me down
as you do it
and if that isn't enough I can pretend i don’t mind that you do
and when you’re done, if that just still isn’t enough, baby,
well,
if that isn't enough there's still my lips you can kiss,
and sink your teeth in;
still my skin you can grab,
and cut down starvingly;
like rotten rose petals clinging to flesh;
if that isn’t enough baby just watch;
as your spit and my blood pool around the body you were just so hungry for,
the seams along its skin still fresh from last time,
watch;
the muscle tissue you feast on undulating like waves from the fear,
clenching up
giving up
letting go
-and if that
isn’t fucking enough
-then sacrifice this body and make into a hotel
where all your demons go sin for the night,
and pick your room, pick your poison, pick your pain,
from the golden book of ways people have done it
carved by goddamn pseudo-psalmic pseudo-poets
in the crevasses of sleepless screaming nights
for inspiration.
but, please, if that isn't enough, baby
don’t hurt those other girls because they don’t
j u m p when someone touches their shoulder like i do,
don’t
double think when they stand at the edge of things like i do,
and if that isn’t enough well they don't start crying when you fuck them as well as i
did,
still do,
still fucking do.
so, when you're done,
please,
watch my heart skip a beat when you’ve eaten most of it;
mouth covered in blood and apologies;
my chewed-up face will say don’t worry as it dies,
down your greedy fucking esophagus
say, baby, i promise, don’t worry;
say, baby, you don't have to pretend to grieve
the girlhood your hands are working to bury;
and
if, well, if all of this
still isn’t godamn fucking enough
i’ll promise you every single thing i have left
and let your fingers taste how much that’s worth
and don’t worry will finally grow into the truth
which is that
i’m sorry if all you're eating
is godamn fucking leftovers
and love becomes hoping that
one day,
just one day,
that'll be enough.
