If you were to put my body to words,
You'd start with my feet:
Scarred and bruised,
From the miles I've tread,
To have gotten as far as I have.

Feet covered in colors so brilliant,
Even the blind could get a glimpse.
You'd look back on my trail,
To see the grass,
The trees,
The flowers,
Illuminated in what I've left behind.

My legs:
Covered in words,
Animals,
And many faces
Of those I've tread this arduous grove with:
From the past,
Present,
And future.

Legs scattered with bite marks
From the sweet animals that flock to my side;
During the night,
I lay helplessly
Tied to the bed,
While they gnaw at my ankles.

Legs polluted with holes in my thighs
From where people came into my life,
And abruptly left;
Burning holes into my flesh
With their absence.

My hips:
Knives jutting out cleanly,
Entwined in bounteous amounts of ivy.

Hips wrapped in lace,
Pleading release,
Appealing as a ripened peach;
Ready to be bite into.

Hips touched by so many eager hands,
It no longer gives the rush
Of a sports car speeding past
After a warm Summers rain--
It leaves only the feeling of remorse.

A redundant statement
I may be.
Falling over myself
To be what everyone wants me to be.
And yet,
I am here,
Nothing but sad,
Nothing but a *****.

You throw yourself
Down the stairs
In your best dress;
You hold your own hair back
When you throw up.
You wish for razors on your wrist
Rather then my fingernails
Trailing down your back.
She was my yesterday,
And she is my everyday.

He's rattling off again about the final touchdown;
You think about her jeans. . .
The way she fits in them:
Tight, yet ready to be ripped off.
You think about her hair. . .
How it falls in a cascade of curls--
In the morning it smells like basil and cotton,
And at midnight,
It reeks of whiskey and desperation.

Razor blades
And lines of snow
Lay on the table.

Blood and *****
Stain the bed sheets.

You have no reason to live
So you press needles deep into your veins--
They awake your soul
And tell you you're dead

Pinned and wriggling on a wall,
She takes his breath with a single horizontal slice;
She reaches in his throat
And pulls out his every whim and desire
To live, to die, to fight.
She smears it across her face
And with a single touch of lips,
His last breath is drawn out
And devoured by her peripheral soul.
His beard is ******:
Just how she desired it so.