Do you want to fuck me
For any other reason
Than to possess me?
To put out in me that fire
You both hate –
And love to hate.

Well the warmth of my own hand
Is no longer enough
I tire of milk gone sour –
I tire of beautiful thoughts
Wilting, and rotting inside my head
I tire of empty bed sheets
Filled only by my own cold body

I could be possessed
If it meant not facing the dark
The shivering lonely night
Alone.

I both hate –
And love to hate
Being alone. Being possessed.

The warmth of my own hand
Is no longer enough.
If I let you fuck me –
Would you promise
Not to put out in me that fire?

No. You'll make no such promise.
That is my sacrifice,
And mine –

Alone.