Nothing About This Is Poetic Anymore
i’ve spent too long writing about black lace and boys with poison in their mouth
they will scoop out your insides and serve them on a sliver platter for all to see
they take
and take
and take what they think is theirs and they leave you with broken bones and scratches down your spine
i’ve spent too long writing about fingers in mouths and bruises on my skin
i am sick and tired of gagging on blood that isn’t mine and having your rough hands caress me like i am the only thing you need when i am nothing compared to what you actually need
i’ve spent too long writing about the devil and the hell he lives in
his touch burns and he cuts deep but your scars will match his and maybe that’s the poetic justice you’ve been looking for
– i’ve spent too long writing about what hurts
