Do not call me beautiful when you've crushed my bones and left me dismantled and immobile.
how can you call me beautiful when I've gouged and unearthen my beating heart,
I've crushed my skull for my brain to ooze out of my ears so no remainders remain,
My body lies wide open with wounds atop ugly scars that have barely healed, my neck is tangled with barbed wires and my punctured viens silently dribbles my only source of life.
How is this beautiful when i am but an empty vessel, i cut my tongue to silence my cries and choped my ears so my own screams become inaudible.
Do you still think I'm beautiful?
.
.
When there is nothing left, why does it still haunt you.
