You offered me some of your
constructive criticism.
I know it came from the heart,
but you told me,
“I know it’s your art, but
you should make it more relatable.”

That’s the thing you see?
It’s my art.
My art that I live and breathe.

I’m freeing me
from what I used to be.

i kiss the edge of the wine glass
and fall tipsy into bed
the sheets are cold and i am not alone
i have myself for company

my lips may be lonely
but they mustn’t forget about
the blood-red temptation
i swallowed and buried deep

the devil has come down to meet me
and i think he is
beautiful