Will you kiss my scars?
Will you love my rot and decay too?
Crystallize me in all that’s unnatural and unpleasant.
Frame me in my ugly.
Be there when I see no light but only beckoning hands into the darkness.
Cut me your hand to hold instead of trimming the edges of my sanity.
Starve yourself with me. Starve yourself of me.
Taste me when I’m solely iron in your body,
trickling down your nose to remind you I'm there.
Feed me sugar cubes to keep the flies warm.
Wean me off the good stuff until I shame you for sharing.
Won’t you keep me sated?
Won’t you blanket your daisies in my mouth?
But what about the moths?
What about the maggots and, oh, what about the monkeys that tease you to let me go?
Let the dead go. Let her go, they say.
You won’t kiss my scars again if you knew I was dead.
Decaying won and I still love you!
I still love you.
I still love you.
How can’t I?
You loved me enough to care for the rot.