you bought a megaphone so god could hear your cries.
you stole many a writer's pen, because you liked the taste of ink.
you broke your own heart gently for the ability to relate.
you sharpened your teeth on the spines of an old boyfriend and dusty books
written by dead men.
you are here to win.

i broke the cross around your neck and called it false advertising.
i covered my writings and body with gasoline for the thrill.
i picked the scabs on my heart because it's a bore to mend.
i strengthened my hide by digging a bed for myself in the warm moonlight,
dead men,
the best company to choose.
they don't judge,
and
they're cool with my decision to lose.

you created a monster,
then got ****** at your monster
for being a monster.

i created a ritualistic woman,
me at my most masochistic,
she fell me and used
my writings to
stoke my funeral
pyre.

fading flesh,
melting ink,

fire, fire, fire.