Addiction

Who are these demons, dancing

in the dark, tempting the

periphery? What holes

in their souls allow them

to seduce me with my own name?

They tantalize me, tempt me,

torture me with longing—

yearning

with raw desire, greed

for that feeling, that feeling,

that fleeting feeling

of spinning away

without disappearing completely.

Just one tango with that one

whose face has a curve

I remember caressing

until my own skin was rawer

than a blue filet, the pain

a constant reminder

of how good it was,

how liberated I felt,

wrapped in cotton wool

and chained to my carelessly

curated pain.

It was mine, all mine

before spilling over,

my sexy demon lover

spending it on you

like a Christmas Club

that knocks the breath out

of your lungs,

jagged, filthy claws

pierce the skin

holding you together

while I fall apart. I should hate

this demon. Instead, I blame

you for your theft of my

indignation, your fucking empathy

that lets you feel my pain

more acutely than me, oh,

so jealous of the precious

heartbreak I gave you,

daring you to give it back

when I’m bleeding to death

in my demon’s embrace.