i doubt you've managed to realize what
you have become in my perspective.

imagine yourself as a mild virus, crawling
your way through my pores disguised as
white blood cells. you circulate through a
crowd infecting people, of course, they
fail to see a disease when they see you
blossom. they see a garden where my
blood was spilled. they see train track
marks on my skin and don't ask how
they got there. you will inflame the
hearts of vulnerable people like you
promising to make them bloom, but
sweetie, do you know everything has
to die? you tied me to the train tracks,
and tell everyone it was my clumsiness
like it was my fault that left me alone
dying on the train tracks. it was your
fault you tied my hands and feet to
the bed of the tracks. if you admitted
to the crime, you would compose a
symphony of white lies confessing of
the fault lines i crossed. if i died by
your hands, it would have been like
watching the bride come at me with
the same knife she cut the cake with.

you managed to infect my being with
fervent compassion for you, yet i wish
god gave me the controls to erase that
feeling. this animal-like hunger is not
welcome inside of my bleached skin.

- kra