smoking guns and caterpillars

I love you in a desperate fashion,
You love me in a new-clothes sort of way.
Let me compare you to predators lurking on street corners.
Let me be compared to your new i
I am your empty pillow….which is always empty.
Your crumpled t-shirt.
Your used black tape. 
I love a lover who in their turn loves(?) me,
Or so it seems.
He does not love, yet holds it in a paper cup.
Sipping would bring him a temporary high 
yet pain keeps him from the drink.
Let him say “I love you”.
Let him be my cigarette.
My falsely-aquired dopamine.
Let me be Myself. 
Allow me to show you one blue eye,
That has believed in every one of your contradictory actions. 
You scream out the truths like gunshots, inaudibly,
Obviously.
I eat the truths like creme brulee,
Smoothly.
Shamefully. 
You are my disease.
My O-Negative blood.
My every brain cell.
“Allow him to leave.”
It doesn’t allow.
His steps will be the death of me.

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