Uncomfortable
with every selfish reach—
I’d pack it full of sin
and hide its face from heaven,
slip a bag over its head
and leave it gasping through plastic.
Comfortable
with the dagger to my neck—
my heart gets wasted on pestilence
and blacks out,
searching for a demon to possess.
Now I tear off chunks of my tongue
and feed them to my pen,
letting the blood sign my name
as the pages drain me whole,
unafraid
of who I’ve always been.
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 8:59 PM UTC
Uncomfortable
with every selfish reach—
I’d pack it full of sin
and hide its face from heaven,
slip a bag over its head
and leave it gasping through plastic.
Comfortable
with the dagger to my neck—
my heart gets wasted on pestilence
and blacks out,
searching for a demon to possess.
Now I tear off chunks of my tongue
and feed them to my pen,
letting the blood sign my name
as the pages drain me whole,
unafraid
of who I’ve always been.
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