Are you just another impulse of mine?

Like the points of knives and pencils and short trips

Off the top of parking decks? 

Are you just another wall with an inexplicable urge to crash into my fragile body?


Surely this is just another self destructive endeavour but
With a different type of release 

How can you look at me like that
And touch me like that without
Wanting something more from me?

But I get what I need from you.

I channel the frustration you give me

Straight back into my time with you.
Writhing and clawing makes a more satisfactory release

Than bruises and needles do.

The End

58 comments about this poem Feed