Love is when he puts a gun against your bottom-lip and says "suck". It's break-ins when you say you're sleeping, a sprained wrist & the marks you didn't know you had. It's when he buries that first man who ever choked you with his spit & wants to "make love" to you you on top. It's age-gaps so wide you'll never fit inside so he draws you a new one. It's Sunday mornings, waking up in the same room, fake-windows, goodbye-fucks & "I'll take you out soon". It's feeling his hands when he's gone, thinking no one else will ever touch you. Organ tunes men and mothers walking into lakes. It's not about what you won't do, or who; it's wearing his hands like a necklace & pretending you're as soft as he likes them to be. It's excusable self-harm & throwing yourself into destruction. It's a delusional cult-leader, a best friend´s daddy. You've been good so you have to be touched hard, held down, white-hot halo. "Every girl need houses to burn, but I am a house that will burn you inside"