I remember the smell of his skin

The taste of his lips

The residue of sin left on my skin by sweat from orgasms past

I’ve turned another body

Lost a piece of my soul in between loud screaming and sweating

Now I lay here going over the details of what it means to truly have someone love me

Of what it meant to feel important to someone…. ANYONE

Remembering love and the faint memories it has left on my heart

Romance…. passion….fire

Now all I do is turn over bodies

For pieces of my soul hoping to find intimacy somewhere in the dirtiness of my sheets

Touching, feeling deep in myself trying to find “her”

She is laid out somewhere 6 feet under in a casket named broken hearted wearing scarlet and bleeding crimson

Wishing that once again she could be alive…. loved….whole

But now I wear black

In an alley with multiple names on my walls written with semen, sweat and blood

Not even multiple Ajax washings can make it clean

For my journal of masturbatory admissions is now a Hall of Fame

Yet none are famous

How long will I search?

Turning over rocks of broken hearts

The smell of lust on his skin is all that keeps invading my memories

Knowing he will never wear the title husband

I turn off my mind and hand over my prize for another peasant

Because I am not worthy enough to have love because my soul is empty

I’m just a woman wearing black with patches of “Him” piecing me together

Longing for those pieces to make me whole

Until I realize that he’s next to me

Holding me hostage with his arms and legs

And I remember another body turned

And I’m just another hole made wet with no feelings left over

Leaving my calling card on his mirror written in red lipstick…

“Be seeing you….”