Page 24 of Biker Boo
Like gasoline tears and pumpkin spice.
She kissed that mask even so, still, I swear I could feel her soul on my tongue.
She let me touch her.
Not all of me.Just enough.
Just enough to ruin the rest of my goddamn night.
Just enough to make me come back here, hands still shaking, and write it all down like a sinner trying to make sense of salvation.
I am the sin eater.
The quiet knife.
The ghost that walks where fire forgot.
And she…
She is the flame I stepped into willingly.
You ever want something so bad you stop believing you deserve it?
That’s what she is to me.
That’s what Rebecca Crowley has always been.
It ain’t just the curve of her mouth or the way her voice lilts when she’s lying.It’s theragebehind her ribs.That’s what sings to me.That’s what howls in my bones.
She don’t even know it.But I’ve watched her.
Every Halloween.Every heartbreak.
I was fifteen when I saw her in that red hoodie, her Little Red Riding Hood costume, chasing down some boy twice her size who called me a bastard behind the church.I thought she was a wolf come to devour.
I wanted to be eaten.
Still do.
There is no prayer for men like me.
No grave marked clean.
But if she asked, I’d climb in it gladly.
If she opened her mouth, I’d drink the dirt from her skin.
Call it communion.Call it filth.
Call it love.
I ain’t got much.
Not like Legend.
He got the club, the girl, the town, the storybook father with a crown of barbed wire.Even got a damn horse at some point.
But I got poetry and scars and silence.
