There are two types
of punches
in this world
and I'll take them
both.
Maybe one
right in the face
before I become
the punch line
to your insensitive
little jokes
(sorry I forgot
to laugh this time.)

And even then
I'll take them gladly
as the blood
makes its acquaintance
with my tears
and my fears
become entangled
with fury.

Hurry up.

Tell me
that no one
will ever love me
and that I'm just
another ugly girl
in a ****** up world
that will do nothing
but swallow me whole
and purge me
once it tastes my
bitterness.
I'm sorry
I wasn't
sweet enough
for you.

You.
Craver of life's
toxic temptations.
Infatuations
with the
nicotine filled paper
you place
between your lips
and the horror stories
you read at three
in the morning
as you wish to become
another doomed character
created by your favourite authors.

But you didn't even bother
to realize that
our lives are the horror stories
and as much as I wanted
to put the book down
I kept screaming for more.

Always craving
but never satisfied.

And all I can hear is
daddy crying out
"You could have died!"
"You could have died!"

You
could
have
died.

I don't care,
god ******.
I thought the
tears in his eyes
would have
stopped me
but the
spilled blood
on the floor
was so taunting
and I knew
right then
that I'd
always
want
more.

I guess I really am
a *******,
because you know
for a fact that I
would kiss
the hands
that punched me
in the face

one
     too
          many
                   times