Impish Scabs

He only loves you for your pretty face,
and he’ll only stay for that skinny waist–
so darling, when is it time to change?

Those pretty fingers caress your cheek,
playboy kisses trail up your thighs–
tell me love, is this your disguise?

Your eyes devour his roguish face,
breathe religion between his legs–
it’s no wonder you can’t see.

He leaves you writhing in pleasure,
keeps you waiting in wracking sobs–
that watery smile bogs you down.

Your love turns to septic paranoia,
those excuses scream mockery in your ears-
why is it you won’t heed these fears?

Now you implode with envious disgust,
bloating his ego that’s fit to burst–
those tears are his victory lap.

It’d be sad if you didn’t keep picking the scab,
letting the old infection right back in-
in those begging breaths you let him win.