I wonder sometimes
if self destruction is
beautiful. If it doesn't
take a knowing, an
understanding of a
thing to ruin it.
If it doesn't take
intimacy to press
until cracks form
beneath your bloody
fingers. If it doesn't
take love to hate.
Understanding,
intimacy, love,
all such beautiful
fascinations. All
so deeply entwined
with the act of ruining.
I wonder sometimes
if self destruction is
beautiful. And I
wonder sometimes
if I have enough in
me to pursue it.
