to the boy who just wanted a fuckdoll

I was just a body to you.
I was just hands,
eyes,
lips,
ass,
legs,
and breasts.
I was something for you
to get your fix from,
something to beg for.
You never really wanted me.
You wanted something easy.
You wanted a throat
to shove yourself into.
You wanted hands for you
to grab and slide down
your torso.
You wanted a jaw to make sore,
legs to spread apart,
hair to pull.
I was a cheap almost-fuck.
All while you sucked the life
out of a couple half-assed joints
stuffed with tobacco
and washed it down with beer.
(You didn't even bother
to try me sober.)
Your sweet-talk was simply
to keep me hanging around,
to keep me there
to share your joints and beers,
so I could satisfy you.
How do I know?
When you didn't get me off
you gave up,
but I just had to

keep on trying.