My shame weighs more than yours. It’s the reason I keep turning up at your door. But, I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hate myself. Make love to me like I’m better than the horrible things I’ve done. Like the deaths I’ve profited from isn’t me. Like I’m forgiven for stealing change from junkies’ O.D jeans. Forgiven for turning emergencies into tragedies. Make me feel like I’m always as beautiful as I am asleep. I know I’m worthy of this from all the rooftops I’ve stood on without jumping.