you left a crime scene in the thin depth of my ribcage, the first word i say — a swan flying out of my sleepy skull — do you think i would choose to live without you? if i could boil myself like water, do you think i'd forgive you? if you killed me like a star, maybe i could look my home in the eye.
my home, a conquered, wounded animal, with claws and teeth and matted fur - my home, dishonest, lethal, built upon centuries of wars, of lies, and again - another gunshot. another body on a carousel. always, there is violence in affection, in every venomous hand tucked in between fairy shoulder blades, poison ivy climbing into open mouths - home, my home,
another knife being sharpened. what is love if not acid? what is kindness if not a trap? kick me and i'll lick the blood off your boots. this is the only way i've ever known. i'm your girl. i'm your dog. i'm your love letter. i'm the carnations on your grave. i'm the filter of your cigarette and the goosebumps on the nape of your neck, the hand on your throat, the scar on your knee. i am not beautiful but i could be.
