You Kissed Me over and over Again

I still feel your lips, from the kisses from yesterday, more than the kisses from today.

It doesn't make that much sense to me, but then again, I live in a half dissociative state most of the time, so most things don't really make that much sense to me in the end.

I wonder if you like me as much as you say you do, but I only doubt it when you aren't here. When you hold me, it's all that I can think about. For once, all my thoughts quieten.

The only problem is you're terrible for me.

The torment I go through when I wait to hear from you is worse than the good times, and I keep coming back. I keep begging. I don't want to keep begging for affection, and here we are, again. Here I am, again, on my knees.

Here I am saying I don't have time and here you are pulling my hair in that way that drives me wild.

Here I am with my mouth on your cock, again, for the last time, again, for the last time, again, for the last time.

My best friend thinks I'm an idiot. She loves me, she's my ride or die, she thinks I deserve better. Sometimes I think so too. Then, there you are, talking to me, and all of that melts away.

I feel your kisses more strongly now thinking about them, but today wasn't about kissing. Maybe that's why I think about yesterday. For the first time, I saw you two days in a row, at least the first time I remember. You didn't even have sex with me yesterday. Or come just to get your dick sucked.

You had a reason other than me to be here but you still kissed me and I still feel it. You talked to me like a person, you talked to me that night, you talked to me today, and I'm still riding that high you give me with your attention that only ever seems to comes from you. I don't think that anyone other than the push and pull of you could make me feel this way.

Maybe any push and pull would do, knowing me.

Is it always going to be like this? Am I always going to let the Bad Man into my bed, or will I meet a soft girl someday who reads me poetry and treats me like a person all the time, and not just sometimes.

Someone telling me they like me consistently, where it doesn't only feel like screaming I love you to stave off the break up, but it feels consistent and strong, like I do when you pull me close.

Or will it at least be many days of hair pulling and roughness that leaves me bruised and wanting more, feeling desired in a way that I can't even argue with with my brain that can argue with anything good about myself. Maybe it doesn't have to be one or another.

False dichotomy, black and white thinking, all or nothing, put it all on red as my rage grows when I worry about being used and get in my head. Or when I worry about being used and shove my hand in my pants because it's just the right way, just this once.

I wonder who else feels this way, being used and broken things that we are. Would you be used and broken beside me, sweetheart? Like him?

Pull me to you and let me push you away, so you can pull me back by the base of my hair, into a sweet embrace, that turns violent and makes my blood rush and adrenaline spike and just for a moment, brings me into the moment.