Worship Me

it feels as though everyday i’m writing of you and the pain you create

do i mean you? or is it simply the collection of all of the yous put together? is it one or is it many?

you feign interest ask me about my day and for a moment i believe you care longer than a moment, really longer than I'd care to admit

you give me a drop of water, and i sort through it as if i have the entire ocean to examine

i didn't know that healing was actually quite lonely on an island, stranded knowing that learning how to build a fire is necessary but desperately wishing that the person who taught you what a flame was could just be there

showing you grace showing you the most genuine and truthful love i could muster pulling inside the depths of my body, just to give away everything inside to you

place your hand inside my ribcage tug at my heart a little bit more and it's all yours

in return i get nothing your empty stares and dry messages looking at me as though i’m someone you knew a lifetime ago

it guts me rips me to pieces my body in shreds on the floor i tried to show you in every way possible, but what am i supposed to do when you don't even answer the phone? you don't even have a phone at all. unreachable. unchanging.

telling me you think i'm pretty just because you need to get off. isn't that the same thing as love? being wanted? being desired? so what if i have to be half dressed to do it? it's what i wanted isn't it?

my body is a temple. you'll worship me, regard me as all things holy, and leave, only coming back when desperation sinks in, and no one else will answer your prayers.