it feels nice…

— tw: mentions of vulgarity

PART ONE

- wanderlust

Pressure.

I feel it. But I decide—

his hair is my throne.

ion.

It hums at the dead of night,

even though

I never reach it

Childlike.

I imagine once in a blue moon,

I will be needed.

Wouldn’t it be nice to know I will.

Sick.

In the head,

in the heart,

in the mouth-

plagued by our mother’s milk

once shared.

Coax

Out of me,

inside.

Make me

feel wanted.

Free

No.

I don’t need it.

No.

I can’t have it.

It costs

less for me.

Carry

into the lies—the burning fire

of a fallen angel,

sent for danger,

for mercy.

Find me,

Please me-

I want more than love.

Give me euphoria.

- dog

I am your dog.

Skin pulled taut, like rope drawn tight

Thread, red, reduced, worked on until

my roots don’t matter to me,

until I reached a nihilistic age

Reach for the heavier than the light,

The rough ground, undoubtedly my

choice for repentance-

The act of worship feels like an exercise,

or fanned wild by Zephyr’s blessing

Core for the desire to twist and form

into anything they ask me to be-

A shape in his palms,

a mirror for my hunger.

A silent dispute between owner and animal,

Each stream floating through my tear lines.

Every action bears consequence-

A flame, tempered by water’s cool caress

blurs the line between predator and prey.

If I don’t reach your expectations,

you can simmer me out until

your eyes forbid mine to sleep.

I am not with myself anymore.

Call me afraid, I’ll be afraid.

Under the circumstances you’ll rid

of me.

For some reason, you keep me

I am only worth as much as I give.

I am a vessel made to break,

but I break for you,

so you can remake me.

I am your man.

- all pictures belong to pinterest