malcontent

I was drunk on cheap vodka and sobered by your coffee eyes and all of a sudden all at once I spoke the words I swore to never say and I knew you would reciprocate the moment my lips moved against your neck, whispering, admitting. and here we are forcing ourselves to forget the honesty of last night and I can still feel the tattoos traced into my skin by your fingertips, every inch of me is inked by your anxiety of my exit which again we deny despite its inevitability and I claim to be casual while my mind is crowded by your proximity and the inkling that leaving you will be more like tearing off a scab than a band aid and the addiction of your skin will be my downfall. you've disregarded protocol and in the process of learning me you're making an enemy of yourself, stunted by the realization that no matter how tight your grip is I will either float away or fall to pieces. I am not one to be satisfied by monotony and despite doubt I demand the remarkable and such expectation that you could never satisfy the ambition of my organs or the determination which my existence has required. who are you to hold on to a sparrow, who am I to fly away?