run your long fingers
through my oily black hair.
look down on me,
from up there,
whispering
that you care.
what
do you really think
about me
what
do you really think
about my greasy hair?
you tell me so much,
when you need me.
you bare yourself nude
in bright light,
but when your need for me is done,
your clothes you put on,
and your words turn so cold.

i would slit my wrists
if my blood you needed.
i would chain myself
like a slave
to your every whim.
i would entomb myself
in whatever plot you layed before me,
if but to know
that you truly cared.