by Ruby Darling
You piece of shit, you worthless whore.
but you were prepubescent,
gravity hadn't swallowed your youth,
you still thought about things
like why grown-ups are lonely,
why they fight,
why they do bad things to children,
or why they do bad things,
then your brain got consumed with perfection
and pleasing, and you wanted to please,
like most people do
who don't know what they stand for,
and there was the monster
seeping under your skin,
when it was pale,
the way Macedonia ticks do from Greece,
or maybe just Northern California ticks do,
since thats all
you really know,
his venom spreads,
corroding your sense of self,
and you
detach,
You piece of shit, you worthless whore.
Soon your sunken eyes avoid mirrors,
and all the disgust and dead
and deceit are purged from your veins,
you run,
and you keep running until you feel
euphoria > deceit > purity
and you forget the salty of sweat,
how nice to hold his hand,
the awkward wet of his palm,
but you didn't let go,
didn't ever want to let go
instead you starve,
starve and believe you are no longer
the memory is buried in your liver,
but you stay focused on self-loathing,
no more wasteful obsessions,
like :-) or ;-) ?
or the melodrama of laughing out loud,
so instead you think about things
that aren't waste,
like why lovers give up their power,
and then, maybe you give in,
your brittle heartbeat > slower more,
you taste death,
the dryness of your mouth,
the persimmon you once ate before it was ripe,
IVs are stabbing your unwed veins,
and it's nice to feel something,
and your body is barely,
and your mind is barely-
maybe this is what hail feels like
against a windshield,
and it would be nice to snowboard again,
without it breaking your bones,
but maybe breaking your bones would feel nice too,
and you sink into your mother's last words:
you look like an alien,
and you take it as a compliment,
and the monster pats you on the back,
he owns you now,
76 pounds of your flesh
left for him to eat.