Tag Archives: fucked up

metal & skin (xxi.)

it’s

fucking

good

to

be

back.

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the cheap meaning of irony

a vibrant scarlet smiley face

and a softly-painted “i’m okay”

written with the tip of a safety pin

using the blood from my own wrists

in a small throwaway paper envelope

where i keep my dull rusted razors.

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metal & skin (vii.)

the worst part

isn’t the fact that

i shower myself

in paintings of

incarnadine affinity

it’s the fact that

my fucked-up mind

wants to display

the grotesque artwork

so damn proudly.

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4 a.m. depression and jealous pasts dripping off the ceiling

thrumming

like fucking echoes

of a firefly miracle

in my coronary doldrum

beating, b-r-o-k-e-n

tongue hanging off

like the way the stars

hold on for gravity but

fall against pierced glass

of darkness anyways

i’m relapsing, r e  c   e    d     i      n        g

the past is killing me again

i say i’m alright

but shit, what if i lied

to myself as well?

the cringes that burrowed

their way into my gelid skin

and gutted my stomach

until i end up heaving in

blood and bile and scissor blades

and choking on perfume

as sweet as promises undone…

fuck you. fuck YOU

please leave me alone, walk

away from my nightmares and

leave my sanity on the doormat

i don’t want to taste your pain

and leave drunk calls on

your answering machine again.

please stop me from you

everything is hurting like hell

on a four a.m. depression

and i’m just trying to fucking

take back sunday and my sleep

from you, so spare me the

profanities and give it back

please, won’t you?

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