just lie to me.

Just one more fuck up.
Tell me one more lie –
I’ll believe it.
You don’t even know.
You don’t even know.
I’ll fake it so good.
You won’t even know,
that I know,
that you’re lying.
Tell me you want me.
Tell me how beautiful I am
with these goddamn tears
dripping from my eyes.
Touch me like it’s the first time.
Touch me like you want me,
forever and fucking always.
For the love of God,
lie to me, please.
Hold me so tight,
that I’ll believe you won’t leave.
Lie to me so good.
Swear, I’ll believe it.
Take me.
Take all of me.
Take my things.
Just please, don’t leave.
Please stay.


dead microwaves.

Her words were cold,
like ice on a grave
but it’s hard to heat things
in a dead microwave.
She wanted to speak,
words and words
and feelings and emotions,
but it’s hard to dig them out
of the dirt once they’ve been buried.
She choked and she coughed
and she spit them out
the best she knew how.
She started a fire,
she didn’t know how to put out.
An electrical fire,
would have caused less damage –
or maybe throwing a toaster
into a lightening storm.
She was a disaster,
two steps from the edge.
The risk kept her sane,
but safety called just the same.
Stop it, stop it.
Stop feeling this way –
she screamed but the wind
drowned her out.
Maybe she’d be better off
in a hurricane with a band-aid
instead of a boat.
She could patch the last scratch
right before she went down –
they’d find her drifting
over the edge holding onto
a dead microwave.