hide it under a veil- it's a masquerade party after all. face twisted, crooked smile tinted with blood.
"come over, boy," i'd say, "i'm hungry for the nectar on your lips"
but of course you wouldn't understand-
i am unintellegible,
if i ripped my throat out
maybe then my language would be heard.
yet perhaps i never wanted you to listen... my mind has stars crisscrossing, crumbling, cowering- at the very thought of you.
did you know that you remind me of sunsets? and how if i looked at the world from above, it wouldn't be nearly as extravagant as you.
of course you didn't.
disregard the gallons and gallons of blood i've shed for you. as i peel my skin and puncture my skull; pitious efforts of self mutilation.
i felt more pain than Frankenstein's monster as i sewed my leg to my shoulder: "do you want me yet?"
YOU ARE READING
young.
Poetryaren't we the lucky ones? we get to feel dead when we're supposed to be living. a collection of scrap paper rambles when i was younger.
