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Apr 25
You poke your horrible head out
every once in a while.
I can taste you on my tongue, rolling over my teeth disgusting
and necrotic.
You’re rotten.
You crawl over me, a sick visceral
feeling that settles on my guts, heaving
me down to the floor.
Weak and heaving.
And so I
Hurt myself.
I’ll administer enough trust so
it’s sure enough to bruise.
hands over purpled skin
revelling on the sensation.
And so,
I’m marred.
It feels like a thousand
prickly needles piercing me, just as you pierce my mind
and every rational thought.
I’m not sure you exist. I’m not sure
you’re real;
I’m not sure I’m real,
either.
You impale the basis of my being
with such effortless strength, toppling
pillars without a second look or regard.
You make me want to ******* rip my eyelids clean off,
I want the tainted ichor, once and for all
to obscure my vision.
And never clear.
The gore corrupting my eyes
So deeply they
turn mildewy.
decay away with the rest of me.
I don’t want to see you.
I don’t want to believe you exist.
I will deny you.
Deny you.
Deny you.
And deny you, once more.
fully figurative.
Written by
salaì  17/M/Heaven
(17/M/Heaven)   
127
   Fawn
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