Wool eyes, pretty please I say
Spray paint my wedding dress
With my drug scarf tightly wrapped around me
You'll be my party hat
Crab apples rooting in the flask of my stomach  
With a tinfoil ring you purposed
My glass hands cracked
The smell of your aftershave curls my lip
Minuscule wombs carelessly flung in my suicide toolbox
My own blood has become my moisturizer