those loving words are sweet on your lips

but mine must taste so sour -

i touch you with sandpaper skin, cooling by the hour

when i am hollow, porcelain cracked and thighs numb

who is it you love -

what do you want with the dying one?

art i am not, rather a mistaken drawing

leave now; i can only shriek so many warnings

flinch from my scars, close your pretty eyes and find another

loose from your thoughts the corpse who would have been your lover