A bitter stench follows your steps
corroding the tips of your hair
biting at the back of your throat
floating its way into my home.

You are sick.

--

Your search for perfection is contagious
a path paved with shards of glass
beautiful from afar
but this path is destructive.

You are incomplete.

--

Thin white lines decorate your arms
too many hours spent in rotten company
the habit is not firm
but the lust for scars is strong.

You are blemished.

--

Fingers grace strings and a voice sails
your talent is pure and unyielding
a reminder of what once played in my ears
you are a breath of familiar air.

You are homesickness.

--

Bleach stains appear on shoulders
scrub clean the mess which you have created
tear skin, split lips
shatter, mutilate, punish.

You are caustic, Kelly.