he kissed her eyelids
soft like pale butterfly wings
and she woke up
with a cold space beside her
the memory of those butterfly kisses
still fresh on her face.

And maybe I loved you.
Maybe I didn't.
Who cares by this point?
While you're screaming at me,
while I'm curled in the corner,
not sure if your's or the voices in my head are
louder this time.
Maybe I didn't want you to touch me,
while I laid so still,
my tears carving deeper scars than my razor.
Maybe, I did.
Who cared by the time
I woke up with you ******* her,
in my bed,
next to me.
Maybe I didn't want to get you high,
when I worked sixteen hours a day,
smiling lies, and cracking when their eyes were averted.
Maybe, I did,
but who really cares,
by the time I found you,
finger ******* the carpet
for little crystal rocket ships,
that would put you back in your head.
Maybe I didn't want to stay,
when you begged me.
Secrets, brushed under the carpet for a minute,
love facades painted in your black hole eyes.
Maybe I did,
but, who really ******* cares,
by the time I finally got away,
because, I had to face the inside
of the Jack O' Lantern smile, you'd sliced onto my eager face.
but who cares?
You didn't.

They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?

Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.

And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like *******, the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.

For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...