You are the monster under my bed
That crawls up through my pillow and wraps its claws around my mind in the dark.
You are the sunbeams that reach through my windowpane and make it
Let go
You are in my head when I smile, like a consequence, like an instinct
And you are behind my eyes when I squeeze them shut in pain or fear
Like a promise.
Like a bell tolling I hear your name when it is silent and cold outside and the stars are piercing and I am fragile as ice, cracking with the sound of it rolling through my head.
I hear it slide along my skin when I run my fingers through a cat's fur and marvel at the softness and warmth and comfort.
You are in my mind.
You are wrapped around it.
I have made you a disease because you refuse to be a cure
And I will die of it
And good.
Good for you, that you will finally know what you're doing to yourself
By seeing it worn on someone else
You
Darling

You are my nightmares.
You are my daydreams.

You are the insecurities that gnaw at my stomach whenever silence falls and I squirm with thoughts I don't want to think.
You
Are the shadow that falls on the street when I wander at 2 am because I cannot be still with your name burning holes in my bones
And you are what I wake up from full of longing and disappointment when I find my dreams were false.
You are every thought, tacked on, dragged behind, holding on so that
I know of nothing now that you do not cause
That does not cause you.
You, darling, you will be the death of me.
I promised.

If you've got a date with the devil
Dress to ****.

"Oh I know her, she's pretty." Yes, isn't she? Someone else giving you a passing compliment lights my heart up and snuffs it out in the same second. I see your eyes, your smile, and I miss you excruciatingly.
Yes, isn't she?

156

You love me—you are sure—
I shall not fear mistake—
I shall not cheated wake—
Some grinning morn—
To find the Sunrise left—
And Orchards—unbereft—
And Dollie—gone!

I need not start—you’re sure—
That night will never be—
When frightened—home to Thee I run—
To find the windows dark—
And no more Dollie—mark—
Quite none?

Be sure you’re sure—you know—
I’ll bear it better now—
If you’ll just tell me so—
Than when—a little dull Balm grown—
Over this pain of mine—
You sting—again!

Do you worry that I'll love you?
Sometimes I do.
But
I think that if I were to love you
I would love you the way I first learned to love:
Quietly, and with no demands.
I think if the worst were to happen
I wouldn't reach for you
Only tell you
That you are beautiful.
Perhaps
It has happened already.
I wonder if I fear it, sometimes.
But what I really fear
Is that you will fear it.
I wonder if you worry that I'll love you
And you are just too good
Too truly good
To do anything about it.
If you do worry,
You needn't:
If I were to love you
I would love you like you were made of glass-
Delicate, exquisite, and untouchable.

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.
Something comforting.
It is a comfort only very damaged people understand- the tacit agreement to cause pain, and to receive it.
Pleasure is for people who have what they want.
But for those of us who are starving, ours is best peppered with suffering.
Being with someone who understands that carries its own worth-
I don't want you to make me feel good.
I couldn't stand it if you did.
I don't want you to touch me gently, or ask if I'm alright, or stop to look into my eyes.
I am starving, and so are you: I want your teeth.
I want you to make me hurt. And I want to hurt you.
I want you to hurt me because I'm not him, and I want to hurt you because you're not her.
We want to see each other suffer because we are starving and we need to feel that someone else is.
Don't hold back. I want you to lower me because I'm too good for her.
Don't love me, don't caress me. Dig your nails in. Drip candlewax on my stomach.
One step down from torture is all I can stand in the way of human connection, when it isn't her.
Punish me for looking at her like a baleful puppy tonight, even as you waited in my room with your soft skin and your sharp teeth.
There is nothing you can do that will be too violent, too brutal, too sadistic.
I don't want to be loved right now.
I am too raw.
I want to be touched. I want to be ruined. Leave marks. Smear lipstick.
Lower me because I am
Too
****
Good for her.
Let this heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs don't matter.
Help me **** it. Help me pin my demons to the bed and make them writhe, and I will do the same for you.
Let's exorcise our loves tonight and banish them to hell.
Let's tell our skin that it is irrelevant.
Let's say "*******" to the things that bind us. I will cut your heart out for him.
I will kiss your scars, not to heal them but to remind you that when you put them there you fought for something, something we both fight for now.
Hurt me. Fight her. Do it for her.
Do it for her because I'm not good enough to hurt.
Do it for her because I'm TOO good to hurt.
Crush me.
You could boil me alive and it wouldn't make up for her, so at least leave me bruised.  
I will give you what you need, and you will give me what I need: not love, but contact.
Please,
Let my heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs
Don't
Matter.

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.