Control
When I let you tie me starfish style to
your childhood bed, what I’m saying is
take all my trauma and digest it
slowly like a Thanksgiving dinner.
Use your calloused hands to begin a
conversation with this body bloodied
and disregarded by lovers past.
Drip paraffin candles on my bare chest,
flames licking my wild regrets into silence.
In this room, I release my natural
chaos to your steady hands for repair.
Horror Sleaze Trash 