A bitter stench follows your steps
corroding the tips of your hair
biting at the back of your throat
floating its way into my home.
You are sick.
--
Your search for perfection is contagious
a path paved with shards of glass
beautiful from afar
but this path is destructive.
You are incomplete.
--
Thin white lines decorate your arms
too many hours spent in rotten company
the habit is not firm
but the lust for scars is strong.
You are blemished.
--
Fingers grace strings and a voice sails
your talent is pure and unyielding
a reminder of what once played in my ears
you are a breath of familiar air.
You are homesickness.
--
Bleach stains appear on shoulders
scrub clean the mess which you have created
tear skin, split lips
shatter, mutilate, punish.
You are caustic, Kelly.