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Quinn Mar 2020
Am I crazy for wanting to crawl out of my skin?
This endless craving for violent metamorphism pulsing in my heart
My stomach hungry for my own end
This body a bloated ****** whale carcass waiting to explode
As my skeleton wrestles its achy bones from this cocoon of flesh
Discarding the rotten remains of my own prison
Even then will I be free?
Quinn Mar 2020
I am the ghost that haunts our house
With a sheet over my head
To hide the hole where my heart used to be for you
I've framed you for my death
To mask my own suicide
You're attempts at playing God only bury me further
Into this hole of apathy that I've made my bed
Laid with narcissus and nettle
I've come to put you to rest
Come lay your head
So I may bury you under the sweet mud of our love
Quinn Mar 2020
I found God underneath your skin
And blood
So much blood
As I took a butcher knife to your flesh
You bared your bones to me
****** faced as I carved my name into your heart
You ran away naked
You must have left your lungs behind that night
And your tongue, hidden in the night stand
I found God
And he was cold
Quinn Jul 2017
I stand at the kitchen sink and let the water run scalding. Steam lifting from the dingy metal surface like banner clouds lifting into the early morning sky. I stand at the kitchen sink and scrub the skin on my hands, the water turning to mud in my fingers. I stand at the kitchen sink with a knife to my flesh and pull back the skin that I'm so desperately trying to escape. One by one I tear my nails from their beds. They clink as I drop them into the sink. Standing at the kitchen sink, I watch the brown water turn to blood, red running from the faucet. I dip my hands in boiling bleach. The smell reminds me of home. I stand at the kitchen sink and let the salt run down my face and burn away whatever flesh is left till I am staring at smooth white porcelain. I watch my tears run down the drain and imagine it was me. I sit in front of the sink, craddling my newly baptised sins that were never mine to bare.

Nothing will ever wash away the filth
Alt. Title: Attempted escape from the prison of my youth
Quinn Aug 2015
I ****** in a healthy dose of smoke into my lungs; fire twisted and lovely. Like powder in my eyes. The ash Like sand in an hour glass, filling up my lungs like hunger. Taunting flickering flames with mouths and teeth turn me ragged with age and use. Oh the clock is ticking and the seconds are gone in the flames. The smoke is lost in my hands as the time slips by and the skulls on my door step start talking. Their bones rattle my name and the grave I can see. They are waiting for me. In the smoke and ash and dust of time. The skulls are talking on my door step.
Quinn Dec 2014
You're skin was like communion
And you're lips were like sin
As I reveled in every damnation your body could afford me
I held tight to you
Praying on bent knees for just another moment of this glory
But the seconds moved like sand between my teeth
And the time was bleed dry from my body
Left with nothing but a pillar of salt
With you're hymns still floating on my breath
Quinn Jul 2014
And it is love's great triumph
That in our bones we feel whole
The illusion leaves us warm
And the impression that spring and summer will never fade
In these eternal seasons the blind wonder content in the world
Silently fearing the inevitable
But in this cycle we exsist
With emotions both hungry and primal
We crave the lie that we concieve in selfish childhood
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