Morning After

The Morning After

The taste of your tongue has dried to my lips
and I wake every morning to the scent of your hair
Caught in my pillow case and tangled in the air
of this wreck of room where we first kissed,

 Where your hands snuck through my top, then down past my hips,

Where I fight God every day because this can’t be fair--
That I fell for a guy who just doesn’t care,

And I’m just the pawn that played into this
Game or hunt that you’ve come to admire
While I struggle to amuse you, a puppet on strings,
A slave to your sex among other things.

You just look on and smile as it never tires
to watch me cry for your touch, a touch so addicting
that I keep fighting for a love that doesn’t exist.