Junkie

He’ll bleed you out,
  Slash your wrists
   with the broken promises
 he’ll keep making.
The promises you’ll keep believing.
It’s the beginning of the end
   when you’re groveling,
on your knees
 for that second helping
   of blood stained kisses
begging for the touch
   that fills the hollowed out place
where your soul used to be.
   When he finally gives in,
gives you what you’re aching for,
you’ll forget how you layed on this floor,
and bled your tears into the carpet;
     empty and broken.
Just like his promises.