My favorite nights are the ones with her hand wrapped around my neck. She is a siren, she sings my demise. She gets off knowing that she can make me scream out god, crying out for release from her grasp but we are forever intertwined. She doesn’t want my love poems, she wants to see the bite marks she leaves on my pale skin. I want her to leave them there, but god she is killing me faster than a cigarette kills the lungs. When it all comes down to it though, I could never leave. She knows exactly how to use me, knows exactly how I need to be used. She makes me……. feel and I guess as long as I’m feeling I’m not dying.