Everyone has their addictions
Some like to swim in a bottle of whiskey
Others touch the sky as smoke fills their lungs
Carnal lust to feel some sort of love
Finding fleeting moments of joy in the bottom of a burning spoon
Me?
I'm addicted to the gore
Something wicked sharp for my legs
Something small for my torso
A sting and then it's smooth sailing
A leering grin on my thigh
I find myself in the raw pink edges
The yellow spheres of fat
That turn orange as blood bubbles to the surface
And run like crimson rivers down the drain
I am made of satin scars
A physical imperfection to mirror
How ******* up I am inside
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
Everyone has their addictions
Some like to swim in a bottle of whiskey
Others touch the sky as smoke fills their lungs
Carnal lust to feel some sort of love
Finding fleeting moments of joy in the bottom of a burning spoon
Me?
I'm addicted to the gore
Something wicked sharp for my legs
Something small for my torso
A sting and then it's smooth sailing
A leering grin on my thigh
I find myself in the raw pink edges
The yellow spheres of fat
That turn orange as blood bubbles to the surface
And run like crimson rivers down the drain
I am made of satin scars
A physical imperfection to mirror
How ******* up I am inside
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