Thirst with a Body Count
I don’t chase love
I chase that jolt when clothes hit the floor faster than thought
The room shrinking down to mouth and sweat
burning everything we bought, You forget the mortgage
the deadlines, the kids, the vows
Every promise you made that feels weak and flimsy now
I have wrecked more nights than storms
turned birthdays into breakups with a single text
Turned vacations into trials just to see who breaks next
I keep doing it, keep dialing
pouring drinks till the lines blur
Pretending I don’t care about the damage we incur.
You tell me you can’t keep doing this
that you go home and scrub me out of your skin
Three days later you’re back on the step, shaking
wanting to lose and still win, I should shut the door
send you back to the life you claim you want to fix
Instead I open it wide, step back
and let you get your kicks.
We’re not victims
we’re volunteers sweating in the mess we built
Two addicts high on friction, buried in the guilt.
This is thirst with a body count
not a cute bad habit you laugh about over brunch
Every time we fuck, something important dies, a trust
a future, a sickening crunch, If lust is a knife
we’re both holding the handle and the blade
Digging in deeper every time we get laid.
I’ve watched you lie to people who’d burn down cities for you
Swearing you were “done this time” while texting me “what are we gonna do
” Watched myself blow off gigs, blow off friends
blow my shot at being a decent man
Just to chase your nails, your laugh
your specific battle plan, We’re not soulmates
we’re landmines, set off by touch, by boredom
by the wrong room
We look great under low light and liquor
But in the daylight, we are the tomb.
One day we’ll push it too far
leave a mark you can’t cover with lies, A partner snaps
a kid catches on, the light goes out in the eyes
We’ll stand in hospital light or courtroom shadow
wondering when the “fun” turned into a kill
The truth is it was killing from the start
We just loved the thrill.
This is thirst with a body count
not a cute bad habit you laugh about over brunch
Every time we fuck, something important dies, a trust
a future, a sickening crunch, If lust is a knife
we’re both holding the handle and the blade
Digging in deeper every time we get laid.
If there’s a hell
it looks a lot like this room at three a.m.
sweaty and sore, Both of us panting on the floor
Already thinking “Just once more.”