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