There is a hole in my chest

spewing with awkward confessions and 

sacred, lustful whispers.


My mother tells me I’m drawn 

to rotten love.

That I willingly eat moldy bread

and maggot-filled apples.


My father tells me I’m just like my mother.

Both, forever chasing the tarty taste of toxicity

that stains our tongues. 


I linger in abandoned apartment complexes and

behind strip malls.

Waiting for a call that will never come,

like your rusty truck that drives past my window once a day.


Someone once asked me how I could love you.

But they never felt your tender touch,

or how our secrecy warmed my loins. 


Yes, you were angry and 

I was filled with forgiveness. 

And that is why I was drawn to you

like a deer to headlights.


Forever, eating the poisonous berries

that grow on the highway ditches

scattered with the roadkill.