this isn't life

there you sit
like sugar wouldn’t caramelise
oh, but it does
to the extent of which I smell burning
a black and sticky finish
a foul temptation that suffocates its quarry 

that quarry is me 

you stump cigarettes on my neck, my chest
bruise my abdomen
bite my breast
you have no moral
but you do have monotony
and that’s why i’m sure 

you’re gonna keep on hurting me 

you don’t own me
and i’m not your puppet
or your free fetish
or anything of yours for that matter 

that’s all true
yet i’m still here
but for how much longer 

you’re home