there is a boy in your bed with fire in his eyes and your coke in his veins and god knows what on his hands, and if you touch him, you’ll burn. he sleeps with his fists clenched and he dreams of monsters and you think sometimes he must dream of you, but he wakes up screaming all the same.
there is a boy in your bed who cuts like glass, a boy with something dangerous and broken at the edge of his smile, and he’s all kinds of heartbreak and you know you should be careful, but you always did have trouble knowing when to stop, didn’t you?
there is a boy in your bed and he is like you, you think, only better. there is a boy in your bed and he is nothing like you, because he matters.
there is a boy in your bed and you think that if you offer him your body then he might do something interesting. this is not how it works, but his fingers look like they were made for the groove of your hips and so you tell him you want him, and maybe now he’ll pretend to want you back. maybe now he won’t need to pretend.
there is a boy in your bed and you love him.
there is a boy in your bed and you love him, but you’re afraid.
there is a boy in your bed until you wake up, and then there isn’t.