I see there's no need for me to kiss you

My lips.
Your words.

My heart.
Your needles.

My wound.
Your scratches.

My blood.
Your taste.

My tears.
Your laughter.

My rage.
Your amusement.

My insanity.
Your pleasure.

I see there's no need for me to kiss you.
At all.

But do allow me to press my chapped lips onto yours.
Please allow me to have a taste of your cold, plush ones.
Let them merely pressed against the other.
Let the sparks be made, let the fire ignite.
There isn't any need to proceed into the oral transfer of saliva or any other of our words, sentences, or emotions.

And until it ends as it pitifully starts.
Please don't scream.
Because I do believe, that the blade impaled through your so-called heart doesn't hurt as much as it hurts mine.
And allow me to demonstrate it.
Several times.

As you said.
It was never a kiss.

Just a pity.