I know the edge of the world lies
On the line between life and death.
And on each side are mournful cries;
Two choirs created of wasted breath.
I know because I am this line -
Not alive, but neither dead.
Between limited and endless time
Lies me: a lonely spark of dread.
And in this limbo I await
The decay and scattering of my soul;
Which endlessly itself debates
As to which side I shall go.

Your lips taste like cigarettes and your thighs feel like porcelain and I just can't decide which I love more

my father warned me about
boys with black, dead hearts
but he hadn't even realized
that his deranged daughter
had become a girl with that same
kind of heart and she was scouting
for boys with nice ones, so she could
break them to pieces
and stomp on them.

but every time she tried,
she was the one who ended up
with a damaged, scratched heart
and she loathed herself for that,
the way she let herself feel even
the slightest bit of pain again.

but she coaxed herself that if she felt,
she was still human and she hasn't turned
into a emotionless, cold blooded monster,
yet.