I can’t tell whether I would compare you to drinking or smoking. whether I love the soft buzz you give me behind my eyes, or the burning passion in my chest. you’re addictive, and also intoxicating. after I’m done drinking you, a policeman might ask me to step out of the car because the way you taste makes everything sway back and forth. and the handcuffs he puts on me only remind me of how bound I am to you, and the idea of the hypnotic prison you keep me in. I don’t even want the key. my struggle between independence and intimacy keeps me restlessly indecisive about what I want and what I need. For now I’ll stay behind the bars - "at least there I’m safe" said the naive prisoner before they are tied down and stripped and slipped beneath the surface. I am no prisoner. but I am a lover. you cannot kill me, but you can keep me.no-
yes, keep me locked up, please. I am begging to stay - this sentence has turned into a party where the music is too loud and the drink makes me lust even more. stumbling through the halls is a waste of time when I know you can’t stand the separation. anticipating for when you come - keeps me alive, or maybe it’s the threatening darkness.
yes, I’d like to stay your prisoner for a little while. but only yours. keep me tied up for your own pleasures. fight for me. protect me.
what is this game we’re playing?
I know I’m losing. losing it. losing my sanity. the longer I stay the harder I fall.
but I know I’ll be caught.