Shotgun to the head
Becoming one of the web
Ripped to a shred
Spanning all which we live
You will catch a cold
From the other room I'll inhale your spit
I am writing in small, faint, letters
"IDIOT"
And I will admit that my breath smells of sulfur
And I'm sorry dear but I will not f*ck you
You're remarkable, of course, but I do not yet have comfort in my own body
I lack awareness of where I am, was, and will be
So to me all I am is what I was
You, or the idea of you
A rock to my imagination
Picturing you naked
Not physically
Just adoring your vulnerability
Cherishing you sobbing into my breast
It's a pleasure I do not take pride in
I know you're speaking
But your voice is so distant
I don't know whether you're talking to me
I placed myself upon you
Not knowing of the
Cathartic knot you tie
And tangle upon yourself
Decimating as you smash it
With a sledgehammer
Only to regenerate
Like some sick giant
I feel it too