You cut me,
with those sweet ***** dissecting lips.

Shredding every remaining shred of integrity I once believed I had,
you ***** my virtue with your unsanitized hands.

I bleed,
iodine in hopes that it will cleanse me of your disease,

rinsing coarsely through already torn layers of raw and blistered skin.

Alchemy may claim to turn lead to gold.

But what of you;
you are gifted.

Metaphysically fit,
you remain untarnished,

as you **** my virtue with your unsanitized hands.