I told you to leave me alone
and then begged you to come back.
Lately, my moods have been flickering back and fourth more than my broken bathroom light. But you think I’m pretty when we’re three stories up, drunk, and fucking.
I guess this is what my psychiatrist meant when he said I was “pretty fucked up.”
And It’s hard being a neon sign that
always reads “closed”
Because my mother never taught me how to be open, but she did teach me that I was obligated to kiss every man
that buys me dinner.
The face of an angel, and the body of a pornstar, God must’ve sent me here
to do his dirty work.
So you can kiss me all you want,
but don’t cry when you realize I can’t be Eve, when I was raised to be Lilith.