woe is you, twisted legs that taste like high school, swallowing sticks of ink til it seeps out your fingernails. chicken scratch beads of blood speak words on your rails of thighs. woe is you, woe is you, thunder is your presence but gentle mewing is your soul. letβs throw a big ******* after party for your big ******* three-ring affair. my fake little darling, your eyes: shrink-wrapped in disguise, pre-meditated, post-medicated, meandering rings of trees whisper ugly stories of your intentions. my translucent lovely, your heart sputters steam from mechanical parts. it chugs right along, still you question the last time it felt pure. woe is you, woe is you