For you,
Honestly, I would pick away my scabs
To feel each pang of pain as reminders of what I used to live for
I would actually love to see the scars you would leave behind
To have my very own memento of you
And I would, without a doubt, treat those scars as the most intimate areas of my being
To trace them with my cold, lifeless fingers
Darling,
I wait for that moment
when everything else
finally rots
with squeamish
maggots.
Love,