For you,

Honestly, I would pick away my scabs

To feel each pang of pain as reminders of what I used to live for

I would actually love to see the scars you would leave behind

To have my very own memento of you

And I would, without a doubt, treat those scars as the most intimate areas of my being

To trace them with my cold, lifeless fingers


Darling,

I wait for that moment

when everything else

finally rots

with squeamish

maggots.

Love,