He left handprints on my figure and skidmarks on my heart

Over time his tattooed body seemed to bleed into my temple of purity. 

His mouth poisoned every bit my love so that with every taste I became ill and unable to share with others

With a molded fork, he picked at my soul and then let it sit there and rot to the core

He leaves every woman's bed in shambles and every woman's heart in misery

He left my body impure and my mind infected

Not ever has a man singed his name on the tip of my tongue so the name of another would be replaced by his. 

Not ever has a someone painted an entire self- portrait in the smallest of my corneas so that I would see him in every other man. 

I'll probably never forget his sick idea of affection 

I'll probably never forget his twisted teeth forming twisted words of twisted love

 

I'll probably write about him forever trying to make sense of it all