The skeletons aren’t in my closet.
ive strung up their skulls for my wind chimes,
I’ve ground their ribs into the powder i dust on my skin,
I’ve set their spines on a string and wear them as jewellery.
There are no monsters under my bed.
my monsters live within,
they run through my veins like the ichor of the gods,
they flicker behind my dark eyes like shadows,
tthey whisper my sins like a lover’s embrace.
Iam not a porcelain girl.
and if you come any closer I’ll bite you,
and smile red with your blood dripping from my ivory fangs