You're not like other girls.

You're not like other girls. you're different. he says.
what he won't spill is how he would relish your taste till you sucked dry like the other girls he poisoned.

So you yearn for his touch and ask him if your love is too much. You beg and cry and cry and beg. You unlearn your story and carve his name instead. 

You see glory in his eyes and warmth in his arms. Warmth is good till it isn't. till his skin begins to burn yours. till his mouth tastes of unfulfilled vows and things he never told you. 

So you learn and unlearn. You forgive and pray. You keep his secrets muffled with cries of poisoned apples. the 'rotten ones', the 'prudes', the 'sluts'. 

You laugh at his jokes and read his books. till the words you knew, you forget. till the poems, you sang look back at you and fade. 

You draw blood with rusty fingers and hope it's enough to satiate him. Enough for you to dig your grave and bury yourself with the pile of his 'conquests'

You're not like other girls. you're different. he says.

-Arshia