the antiques sitting here
collecting dust in their crevices
the forever cycle of fake smiles
placed on the plastered
eyes shoved in the hollowness of it
inanimate but still deserving of feelings
so i cry when i look at them
waiting for a whisper
waiting for them to say
“remember that time when..”

but i envy them
not to be cursed with a soul
because humanity is pitiful
finding empathy in the inanimate
feeling lonely enough to think an
old chair is sad,
jealous of replacement
i envy the antiques

boney bodies bending
broken boys
malnourished after flourishing
in the sweet sand she’s licking
herself into epiphany
****** hum, and the flavor was sour

going through the motions
***** fluidity then her mouth opens
bruises on wealthy knees
i am sweaty and i shriek i am laughing and then i shriek again
an intersection of trauma and pleasure
what did it mean to u?

i don’t wanna wake up pathetic, but every morning i find my will power wet with drew
sitting in the yard like a child’s toy

killing girls quickly, that’s ur kink
u love the smell of it
flowers placed in my infant hands

why don’t u talk to my dog
i knew u were evil then
sweaty rot down my back
leftover from where u touched me

in the corner of my eye at my local FoodLion
tracking the scent of my ovulation
u follow me, i’m only a damsel
spit pooling on ur lip
still hungry i’ve already fed u

don’t touch me
u texted me “<3”
that’s when ur ***** started showing
i’m pretending to b happy
covering my needy mouth

aimlessly reaching for it
not quite grasping the meaning
of what it is as it’s slipping
through my needy fingers
the texture is lazy
slithering beneath my sad nails
planting itself in the dirt
that i was too pathetic to clean
claiming itself a flower
but y would a flower make me cry?
leaving me wet, rabid, reaching
still aching for the slightest hint of it
like an addiction scratching at it
trapped in inevitable incomprehension

forcing your invitation
beyond my lap
are we too fuckable?
stuffed and posed, i’m pretty now
permission to stare at my weak mouth
worthless, worthless
internal assurance,
only proven with sad pap-smears  
so the sound track is a belt unbuckling

dragging it ****** across my face
dripping *****.
rot covers the bridge of my nose
smiling, pleased at your product
and Satan grabbing at my cage
supporting my head,
scratching at the pretty ankles
searching beneath this gushing blood
getting off from the sound of it

*** is off limits
i only want to kiss u
the light on ur skin isn’t lust enough
u tell me i’m pretty
i smile to myself

Fear is sitting at my dinner table
“pour me some white wine”, he says smoothly
he’s staying for awhile
gripping my anxiety, please don’t come out

ur so beautiful
but u see my skin as lust
i only want to kiss you
forebode ur hands
please don’t touch me

wishing the air was sensual, meaningful
but it smells *****
Fear is sleeping over
arms too weak to stop this
i only wanted to kiss you

ur handling my throat too harshly
stop pulling my hair it’s tearing
i want u to slovenly touch my body
but u insist on beating me
trying to convince me it feels good
ur selfish, it only pleases you
my broken body laying there
but u love me, and i love u too
i let you have your way with my body
i’m crying and you love the look of it
i’m bruising and you love the sound of it
“gentler, gentler”
i muffle through clenched teeth
but ur ears are clogged
with the sound of your pleasure
you’re too rough with my body
you’ve broken it enough
but i still love you
so i fake a smile to keep you

claiming i love it when the red water comes out
connecting the cuts that you’ve drawn
u say “ily” to my cvs-stained face
but u still use ur tongue
to cut slits in my body
it hurts but u think i invite the feeling
you’re feeding me poison words
i don’t like the taste of it
i never feed you because i’m already leaking
redness dripping
the water is warm so i think of summer
i fake smile to myself

dark tendrils flirt with her eyes
people pass her ugly
she daydreams of throats split open
you think she’s pretty
smiling to herself

using her ***
to get you excited
it’s better when the blood is flowing
at her dinner table
long fingers confident
pouring a pitiful glass of wine
creeping up your thighs
touching herself,
fantasizing of what you’ll look like

you catch yourself whining
attracted to this fear
teeth biting the broken lip
yes, this is good
scratching at the pretty ankles
searching beneath this gushing blood

loving the smell of it
dripping
blood pools under her french tips
mouth aching in ecstasy
licking her poison lips
she loves the feeling of this
“i could get used to this”