horrendous appetite

I want to eat myself alive.

Pick at my skin,

Peel off my face.

Until I look just like her

Underneath her precious skin.

A mass of bone

That never says a thing wrong –

That can never do wrong.

I’ll eat my brain

And my hideous laugh,

My long stringy hair

And horrendous appetite

Until I no longer feel the need

To destroy myself.

wounded

why do (we) romanticise our tears?

(are) our laughs not beautiful enough?

is blood and bruising all we are (after)

in order to deserve (the) love

only (wounded) people receive?

my smile, voice (and) heartbeat

should be enough for (you).

we (are) more alive

than a human with (no) feelings

and someone who no (longer)

has hope (in) life.

I don’t need any more (pain).