They won't wear leather jackets,
pick you up on a motorcycle,
cigarette lit between whiskey tasting lips
They won't tell you what you like,
share their medical powdered extacy
injecting your smile so it can match theirs
then leave you guessing,
acting indifferent while your shivers are scorned. Pathetic
They won't leave you crying on the floor,
door slamming and bottles breaking,
sending you higher and higher until you
lose yourself while trying to get lost with them
The bruises won't leave the good ones laughing
after play fighting became real fighting,
after sniffing energy,
releasing coiled fury
body marked as someone else's.
They won't let you lose you.
They bring you back with kisses that
let "I'm not leaving" roll across your cheeks while
Butterflies are allowed to linger
They won't lie and laugh when they say they love you
They just will.