there's blood on my hands, and
liquor on your tongue
this is what true love tastes like
****** in the pews
you are ash exhumed and i'm a lit match
cigarette firepower burning bodies in front of churches
crying holy, holy
are you scared yet?
stars in your eyes, in the palms of your hands
kissing the corpse road
breaths scraping against your ribcage on the way out
someone else's hands in your throat on the way down
crying holy, holy
i want fireproof lungs i want
flowers planted in my eyesockets
make me a garden like no other
oh god, oh god
im coughing up leaves and twigs and
grave markers
(you have a flair for the dramatic
used to hold up pictures of my bleeding gums and say,
you're so beautiful
am i beautiful now, sweetheart?are you?
can you face yourself in the mirror, sweetheart?)
stop it, stop screaming,
you aren't a holy verse
twenty dead roses on a empty coffin, and
four horsemen of the apocalypse, and
death at the bottom of a swimming pool
crying holy, holy