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Mercy shouldn't warm me up
The way it does sometimes
The way it disgusts me.
Shredding the skin on the chords unknowingly
To feel something.
Showering these calloused tips hoping,
My touch to be satin, my voice unbreaking
Mercy shouldn't taste so sweet as it's realising its toxin.
Loom over me, tell me I'm suffering, tell me you agree occasionally.
Hollow out my eye sockets burn my gums they're all aching.
The laced up corset of my ribs is breaking.
All these playful discussions feel like my family's selling me, all this misplaced care, this sporadic goodwill.
Maximise my lifespan make sure I don't die until
I fulfill the system of profanity while grinning.
I am produce I am porcelain I am me.
To be sold, to be passed on, inherited.
What a great joke I'm gatekeeping.