Mine Till It Hurts
Love, money, time, blood, I do not care what it is
if it touches me once, I want it branded, locked, owned
and crushed like a bone, If someone else gets too close
I see red, not romance, not friendship, just theft
I want you trimmed down to nothing but what you give me
Everything left.
You tell me you are tired
that you need a night without my pull on your sleeve
I hear “you are going to leave
” So I start taking inventory like a freak in the attic counting how much they can steal
Your playlists, your passwords, your stories
the way your shoulders drop when I walk in the room
I want all of it locked in a box with my initials burnt in
You forget your own self.
This is not romance, This is carving my claim
I want to own so much of you You forget your own self.
You are mine till it hurts
mine till your veins hum with my fears
Mine till your friends stop calling and your calendar clears
If greed is hoarding, I hoard hearts, I hoard lungs
I hoard every piece of your worth
I do not just want to be loved by you
I want all your fucking earth.
You start to look sick, pale from the constant giving
eyes hollow from the fights you do not have strength to start
I tell you you are ungrateful when you flinch from my hands
when you say “I need a break from this weight on my heart
” You try to pull back, I tighten rings, vows, debts
favors, every line that anchors you to my side
Tell you without me you are nothing
Let that rot inside.
There is a line where need turns to knives
where “you matter to me” turns to “you are my meat
” I crossed that line a long time ago
Now I track your steps like I track receipts
If you ever run
I will drag every bloody thread you left and wrap it around your throat
I will call it love, Call it what you owe
While you choke.
You are mine till it hurts
mine till your veins hum with my fears
Mine till your friends stop calling and your calendar clears
If greed is hoarding, I hoard hearts, I hoard lungs
I hoard every piece of your worth
I do not just want to be loved by you
I want all your fucking earth.
When you finally break and stagger out the door with nothing but a bag and a phone and a pulse that still remembers my claws
People will call me toxic, call me cruel
I will just count what I kept And call it profit.