Maybe I want to use you.
Though you are crippled and broken,
I am in mourning
of lack of touching,
blood rush.


You think you’re helping me;
I know.
I appreciate the gesture
it’s just I’m cold,
so cold
and I can’t promise I won’t
see you tomorrow
and not want you to kiss me
I can’t promise you anything
not love
or even the world

I just want you to want me.

Not need me.

Not even love me.

But want me,
the way I want you.

Want to be near me,
and to feel me, too.

I am here solely to heal your wounds.
I will gladly fix you.

Just don’t love me.

I might be your Savior,
but that does not make me holy.


One thought on “Frigid

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