Is this love?
Is this hostility?
Is this hurt,
or is it just me?
I don't have love bites on my neck,
I have scalds and burns from your kisses,
infusing into my skin
and infesting my brain
like parasites.
Moths that spill from your mouth
and go through my ears
with the smoke from your cigar.
Light it in my bed and watch it float higher,
light it in my head and set a fire.

But somehow
you taste so good that it is hostility.
You feel so good that it is hostility.
You *love* so good that it is hostility.
I hate that you smoke,
you know I do,
but I still love you through and through.
I hate that you smoke,
but I love you,
so your love is hostility,
like the parasities that bite me.
Thank you for spitting them out,
showing me what a muse was,
keeping me captive in this symbiotic state,
and devouring me with your hungry mind;

hungry,
hostile,
parasites.

© lilac_of_hope
Image found on Pinterest; by Phantaszz on Soundcloud.