you tore my ribcage in two and licked each bone.
you left the trace of your tongue devouring me,
and yet i was not disgusted but flattered.
the crack in my neck still chimes; it was used to cocking for you.

​your lips felt too heavy on my hip.
i assured myself it was your admiration breaking me down and kicking me in.
but we both knew that wasn’t the case.

​you shattered my collarbone with the harsh caressing of your fingers
and your stare practically engraved your name into my skin;
the lifeless skin that you sucked the soul from,
the skin you never actually cared about.

​you made my heart cry and beg for you,
i didn’t care that she was mine,
i let you control her.

​you stole my oxygen, scooping it from my mouth and holding my nose.
you poisoned my liver with your words,
your embrace,
your mindset.
i swear i could just feel my organs failing.

​they’re yours to take
you can have my ribs,
lick them,
devour me until you’re no longer hungry.

​you lost my mind too long ago to insist you stop.

i’ve had my body ripped into pieces at the hand of a delicate man,
i’ve lost my autonomy to a gentle heart,
and had my mouth covered by a pleading soul.
you             are not what i am used to.
you are not brutally delicate, nor aggressively gentle like the others.
you                      are kind. but in a broken way.
you are so thoughtful, that it hurts me, as i see you take away your problems out of fear of making them mine.
you                                are not what i am used to.
you are loving. but in an obscure kind of way.
you are so caring, that it saddens me to hear your silence, and to know that it is necessary to your happiness.

the silence i am used to was cured with hands and lips everywhere.

and somehow
                      yours is scarier.