Does it hurt a little bit? Me I mean.
I’m a feverish messin a little black dress andmaybeI don’t care. Emaciatedwords like road kill on a sun-bleached highway, stripped of worth, the putrid rot fills this page and my head.
Youdon’t know all of me, my labyrinth of scars and this demons drool.
Those textured cuts of heaven I wear in my wanton stare rip through hearts in every single hemorrhaged incarnation
Don’t miss me though, I won’t happen twice.