You collect women like cigarettes
Burn the ones that taste too much like truth
Say you’re haunted
But we both know
You just don’t like silence
You left town in someone else’s bed
Then texted me like the apocalypse
Had my name still stuck in your teeth
A souvenir of where you used to eat
Luxury problem: you feel too seen
So you throw tantrums inside your dreams
You call it art
We call it a pattern
You want chaos—but only if it’s flattering
You said “I love you”
Then locked the door
Your girlfriend’s name still warm on the floor
You cheat like it’s jazz
Improvised lies
Fingertips soft
But your mouth—weaponized
Respect in your mouth tastes like gasoline
You hand it out just to keep women clean
But I remember the friction
The couch
Your breath
You say “nothing happened”—
Then touch me like death
Luxury problem: the truth won’t bend
You play victim, then touch again
Say you miss me, and then you run
You don’t want love
You want reruns
You’re not haunted
You’re just loud
You’re not broken
Just too proud
You’re not sorry
You’re just seen
And I won’t kneel for your machine
Luxury problem: I was the cure
But you’d rather stay unsure
You want soft skin, sharp mind
But only when it’s undefined
So I’ll name it now:
You lost me
The last real thing
In your economy