Oh, there has only been one time where we fucked
And I felt like a bad memory
Like my spine was a reminder of her
And you said that you felt sick
—Daughter - No Care
I asked
if you wanted me
or anyone at all
and you didn't answer.
I would not know
if your silence made sense.
I was that book
you couldn't put down;
you wanted
to know everything
about me;
you held me
when I told you
what she did.
then you put down the book,
figured out the ending
and I became irrelevant.
you took me roughly,
violently, like
I wanted you;
I wanted you
madly, under my covers;
I wanted you
to throw me around
like her.
she made you sparkle;
I could only make you angry.
your hands are terrible machines.
like claws, you marked my waist
and bruised my ribs.
I wanted you to hit me
like her; to hurt me.
she was yours by choice,
I wanted you to take me.
you said your bed was small,
and that you would hurt me
on purpose.
I said you sounded numb,
unsurprised,
dissociated,
unsullied;
I wanted more words to describe you
just so you would stay between my lips.
I sang the world,
you bruised my ribs.
I adored your brutal demeanor,
your calm cruelty,
collected indifference,
calculated aggression;
how you knew
I wanted pain.
I cherished my bruises
like tiny reminders
of you pulling my hair,
throwing me
against a wall,
making me
look up at you:
so mighty,
collected,
cruel,
tarnished by the idea
of ever loving me.
—L. Sott
