I wear jeans on Saturday afternoons;
Going to bed at 9 is for little kids.
You tie me up in your pajama strings,
Drag me to weeks of nonsleeping
Skinny jeans take too long to pull off at the end of the day
But are much preferable to the rapid exit of your fingernails.
My skin is your chalkboard and you like the sound of it tearing.
You promised me doves and delivered.
They sacrificed breadcrumbs in favor of my small intestine
Just as you were so inclined to exorcise the hell inside me
I won’t soon forget the way my eyelids looked inside your pretty pink box.