Mature Topic

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you didn’t own an ashtray, and so
you just used your arms and legs
and hid your wine-red galaxy under blankets
of tight denim and lace. I met you on the same night
that I found out that you slept with wet hair
in hopes that you would drown in your dreams,
and that you had tattooed an hourglass into your back
with nothing but a mirror and candle wax.
(there was no room left for skin.) 
before you fell asleep, you laughed
and told me that you had come into this world hungry
and you would leave it hungry. then you pulled up the sheets
but we both knew that they were not enough 
to cover you anymore.
you would light match after match 
and see how long you could hold them
before they burned your fingertips-
“nothing is sacred,” you say,
but I see you dancing in your lotus shoes
when you think my eyes are closed.
and “they talk about getting better,” you say,
“but they don’t say one single word
about getting worse.” 


I found this and it's just so deep and beautifully written.