Body and not the Bread

I'm sick of you sending me Biblical verse
as if they are a cure-
rather, from your lips a curse.
For what could be worse?
I am not found in a page outworn-
I am found in the midst of a storm,
treading water as the King cries out
for me to walk
follow believe.
You send me words
but I drown in the thought
that you never felt an inch for me
and look at how far I've got.
I want, need, to wish you had never said hello-
For I will never be what you want
simply a sister in a large family
I cannot fulfill this companionship
when I want the body and not the bread.

nicotine

Nicotine notes
of missed goodbyes.
Torn threads,
Ragged remains-
passing for our hollow hello.
You know and-
I know,
That, this-
well, this isn't going anywhere.
I tried to give it life.
You kept up the breathing,
but your asthmatic rhythm-
Cut us off.
I soaked up your toxicity,
your second-hand excuses.
I forgive you for taking my lungs,
and filling them with air-
that left me,
once breathless
now grounded and gasping.
I'm picking up the scent again,
of gravel and bike grease.
I'm tying my shoes twice
as if somehow
the decay in my deepest, cavernous parts,
will stop.
Nicotine kills quietly yet chaotic-
a scent of you beneath it's musk.