What about this one? He’s so fucking rude.
Bartender pour him another drink. It seems like today he has lost his nerves again.
Yesteryear you would’ve fought the world for me.
But I suppose flesh is only flesh. Your skin sags in all the wrong places. Your teeth look more crooked by the day.
The bruises on your face linger on for longer than what I’d consider handsome. With your lifeless gaze I could’ve easily mistaken you for an abandoned dog. Hesitant and lost.
Look at how he’s talking to me.
I want you to knock his teeth out and I want you to bleed.
Let out your most primal and show the world what we’re worth, not with roses, but with permanently etched scars and burn marks that will outlive any flower.
At least until your flesh wears out,
when your body is no longer mine to define,
and I’ll be out of reach.