Who am I in this sad story ?
The pathetic character that swallows lies like they were made of gin ?
The third wheel in that overused triangle, where everyone is rooting for the other girl ?
Am I heroine or meth ?
Which has the happy ending?
But I must be a fool. I must.
Only a fool would keep going back to barbed wire
Keep touching fire
Yearning for a burning, a bite.
Maybe it’s venom that sustains me
Even though it pains me.
I like your hands around my neck
In between ecstasy and smack.
Keeps me on track. Or off.
Grass is better than tarmac.
I’ll keep running in circles either way.
The air around me pungent with your words.
And sweet but not in equal measure
The good old pain/pleasure
The undulating pulse of your tongue.
Maybe I’m just vapour, a smoke
A joint in your story.
A silly pause, where you rested your mouth
Before moving south.
I try to do my steps. To get you out of my system.
But when there is nothing but hush
All I remember is the rush.