you should be shoving your
fetid fingers down your throat,
emptying it of everything unholy,
of every drop of acid spat from your lips,
of everyone you ever thought you loved.
you should be sitting naked
on the bathroom floor,
love being soaked up by the tile,
sin melting your skin and
turning it purple like the
orchid on your shoulder.
your face should be
twisted up in the mirror,
eyebrows entwined and
mouth stretched in disgust,
wondering why you are
everything but lovely.

instead I wonder why you were
everything.