Even if eaten fresh
I will rot your insides
The loathing that I carry in my bones
is poison
I like to take pictures
of my sadness
and hang them up on
the walls
of my soul
I wear sweaters of sorrow on warm evenings
and I cry only
when I’m happy
That’s not even the half of it
This is my final warning
I am devouring smiles
and picking apart my existence
like a vulture
on a corpse