i can feel my face stretching and my skin melting because theres anchors on my eyelashes and ive already drowned. i feel so heavy, weighed down and waterlogged. the desert inside me is being filled but not with water - with poison and sticky black bugs. i wish they would eat me from inside out. theyre more entitled to my body than i am - i would leave it in a second if i could.
if i could find the line between my body and me it would be the finish line and i would sprint towards it even as my limbs fell off like the doors of a trashed car.
how much does a conscience weigh? i'll have to put someone else on the scale because i cant find mine at the moment, i'm very sorry ma'am, can i help you today? no, sorry, i dont sell happiness but i do shelf the glistening bones of everyone who has lived before. maybe you'll find yourself new teeth to smile with, because darling, without your lips they would stay dead.
i dont sell good lives but i do have bottled anguish somewhere around here - the ribs make it difficult to reach the heart but i will try so that you can taste what you live without. ah yes, novelty is truly what makes your eyes sparkle. and if youll follow me this way, youll see dried neurons to make into bracelets because they only seemed to be in my brain for decoration anyway.
maybe through someone elses pain you will be beautiful.
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truce » poetry
Poetry❝as if.❞ ⤷in which this isn't poetry but leftover sadness. [poetry] {completed} (#135 in poetry 12/27/17)
