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Even my delusions are painful, in fear, in need, in ruin, love is pain, no lube, pauper, poem, Poetry, sonnet
First comes the anger, then disappointment
unbridled. Adults with their needs. “Promise
me I’ll never be that,” I begged. Tyrant
in bed, all spit and grit. One more callous
lover in a world of blood, indifference —
You said, “this time no lube,” and pressed in hard.
You said, “don’t tighten up.” What’s the science
deep at work here? No one wants to be scarred
but your dark art always wins. I break quick
since pain is straightforward, behooved to none.
It just is. I’m, though, messy. What I craved
paupered me down. Greed leaves me in a sick
panic so that I’ll return — in ruin,
in fear, in need, like that, once more depraved.
