I let strangers pick
at my rotting brain
unfamiliar fingertips
grasping my darkest thoughts
I tried to bleed my emotions
but knicked a vein
presenting to you
my papercuts
and gunshots

when you grasp her hand in yours
I feel you tear open my hollow chest
knuckles tightly bound to your knife
searching for a battered heart to digest

I still feel your ghost
haunting my weaken lungs
who can avoid each other the most
suffocating when I see you swapping tongues

I taste rusting windows and warm tequila
I smell permanent markers and rotting tomatoes
I see distorted faces and doctors turned dealers
I hear broken CDs and internal tornados

I am the bones in the reapers dead hands
I am the creature clawing at your back
I am the carnage you cause for a couple grams
I am the voice that haunts the insomniac


I am a black hole

I sold my soul
for those bony hands
and you stomped on it
for a couple grams

TV static paints shadows upon your features
your infinite thirst pours one drink after another
you stare into the emptiness consumed by a vacant demon
an insecurity baring the face of my mother

body drenched in my sinning blood
lifeless hands fumbling to close my wounds
my body a cake, my inners the icing, my corpse is fuel to you
fingers tear me open and I hear him moan as my life concludes