There is no rest for the wicked
The mind can be cruel sometimes-
My sleep schedule would be the first to tell you that.
But you’re more than dreams.
You’re all. You’re everything.
You’re my minds carefully curated imagery.
I watched you lick blood from your pretty English mouth like it was nothing.
Like it didn’t make my hands shake
And rive at the steel on my wrist
that bounds me to reality.
Like i didn’t want to carve down your back
Just to make you real again.
I’ve tried, God I’ve tried
To be good. To be normal.
All patriotic for your own being,
And every alarm bell rang
You were meant to cleverly
You don’t quite understand.
The kind that you bury with bodies
The kind that you hide in the dark from
Not the sweet kind you feel
No this is the kind you smother with a pillow
Until it stops twitching.
Tell me, do you think I don’t
Of you with your spine of steel arched
Think I don’t want to answer
I’ve watched you take down men
And fix your lipstick all in the same breath.
You always will be, and darling-
The pedestal will always be yours Peg.
But this isn’t seduction, no
Because you’ve already let me in,
You know that- don’t you?
You wear your righteousness and honour
With glamour, like armour.
But I’ve know what you’re really made of.
Your nakedness, vulnerability, rage
And the soft underbelly of where
Your guilt curls up on a night.
I want to drag it out of you
I want to taste your pretty little lies
And spit them back into your mouth.
I want you on your knees,
Speaking my name over and over
like an anthem you were never meant to say.
I want your blood under my nails
I want you with bruises shaped like my name
I want you with my fingers curling deep inside your guilt
I want you wrecked and holy.
Making me feel like a person.
Making me feel like a bomb
Between the late hours of your night
And the last thing you’ll hear me whisper is
