it starts with a "d," and it's not delicious

and you were the last in a while, you know
with your rough hands and your rough words
and breath and mouth that tasted disgustingly
like processed meat stuffed into a synthetic casing
and your dirty, beer soaked hands that touched me
left lines of disgust and prickling skin that shouted "NO"
with your name that started with a "d," i guess i'll just
call you a dick, because that's what you technically are
and when i think back on it, really, i guess i'm to blame
i shouldn't have done that; it was pretty scarring, i guess
and luckily you didn't have an opportunity to make good
on the "tearing up" and what not that you promised to do
because even without that disturbing action
you left my top lip burning and raw the next day