drainage

confessions of a teenage basketcase

i wish i could tell you how i can't sleep at night anymore. i dream of you still within my skin, burying inside me like i am your deathbed. empty beds are where i have always met my demise.- how it doesn't stay hollow for long. a gunshot in a moonlit tragedy where you ruined me. can you hear it? rushing past the closet, the pool table, the couch; all in which you held my body like a carcass.
how many girls have felt this way? and how many men have not cared? sometimes i think i am dead. that i died on that bathroom floor, and the bloody vomit never stopped. your hand carved to my ass while i couldn't catch my breath.

do you think i'm pretty? is that why you both raped me- or did you just know. the teenage basketcase- you know the type, right? the girl with fishnets shredded just like her skin. you offer vodka and she grins. anything that will make the suicidal tendencies expire like a cheap one way ticket. and fuck yea, it's a one way ticket show isn't it? pour enough rubbing alcohol and she'll get on her knees. rough it up a bit just like you like it. because she doesn't matter, does she?

my skin is burning in hues of cherry sanguine and ivory-intertwining from the night you touched me. still feel like it's my fault. how i wore all the wrong things and said all the right ones. how when you pinned me down, i didn't fight. instead, i lost myself inside the ceiling fan. eyes rolling in circles, hoping for a different ending to a story i know so well. a story that many girls have known and bled.
but the blood slows, and soon we will be whole again