Spanking and biting
Tying me to the bedframe
You make pain pleasure

It was in my room,
Surrounded by words written in cherry red lipstick,
Screaming hopelessness in the choppy handwriting all the tortured seem to share;

It was in my room,
With half drawn photos of my mother and a dusty guitar that played memories from the time before and the times in between, like a lullaby that haunted me to sleep;

It was in my room,
With the ceiling stained by tobacco smoke and the smell of depression clinging to the ***** bed sheets;

It was in my room,
With the photos hanging off the wall,
Half-torn from the night of lonely desperation;

It was in my room,
With sheets draped over the curtains,
Hung there in a feeble attempt to pretend the sun didn't exist anymore;

It was in my room,
That my shadow got tired of following me and instead swallowed up my mind,
Where the birds sang me to sleep and the moon gently woke me,
Where a day became a thousand years and after a while even God forgot I was there;

It was in my room,
Where I scrubbed the walls clean and painted the ceiling,
Where I pulled the sheets off the curtains and opened the blinds,
Where I threw out my cherry red lipstick and my ***** bed sheets,
Where I finished the drawing of my mother even though the nose will never turn out quite right,
Where I cleaned the guitar and sang to my soul with a new found reverence,
Where I asked the birds to wake me and the moon to tuck me in,

And after all that was done,
It was where I finally opened the door.

you see me with a smile
on my face and
making sarcastic remarks.

i must be perfectly okay.

yet im still thinking about 10 minutes ago,
when i was letting my pillow
soak up all my tears.

i was the girl laying on my
bedroom floor,
the same song on repeat.

tears come and go,
but the pain lingers.

Do you know how hard it was to watch you on TV?
I saw it all again in a blue rush
The smoke from a cigarette blown just in from the garden door
Your broken needles and stupid little games littering the floor
A black coffee and a dusty bed
Us talking for hours while the sun falls and rises from the dead
Crowed parties of your own design
You looking at me from them
A gulf in a crowd
Making me laugh in my small crimes
We liked the way our dreams worked
Together in each other's bedrooms
Floating in your eyes I see the soul spin
Of heavenly physics clouded in fun and evil
To see all that in your face
Is not to see God
or even any abject grace
But its been a year
and you're talking to the interviewer
Shepherded and meek
Cared for another I see it all in that week
You're Talking to the TV
rather than at me
The grass is rarely greener
sights of when you see her
Alone and discarded,
I see you now on the screen
Eyes so hollow
near your bike -- you're so lean
It was painful and insufferable
the inhumanity of your stare
I'm killed by cruelty
or even maybe by my silence
You're talking to the TV
Rather than to me
But my tears are becoming moonlight
one day they'll be sunlight
then just light
A violent light of my own
And not light dredged up from you.

I don't need no
chains and whips,
sparks fly from
my fingertips.
Magic, the way
you move your hips.
Magic, when you
part your lips.

I'm no sage,
but I can enlighten.
You crawl to me,
you are not frightened.
Sweat and blood,
muscles tighten.
Draw the shades,
don't let the light in.

You kneel before me,
I can't ignore.
You rake my skin,
I ask for more.
I part your legs
and kiss your core.
Falling from you,
what you wore.