they say there's nothing holy
in your mouth. you're all foul, all
devil, you breathe out black smoke
and breathe it back in like a cycle,
over and over, turning
darker and darker,
they say that you're too heavy
because your shoulders are
swollen with your tears and
your lungs filled with your secrets
(you keep them tucked in between
alveoli and burning, it's sorted alphabetically:
a for anger.
a for apathy.)
but you know - they say other things, too,
praises: the way you can pull the
night out of your chest,
the way you combust;
(shinbones make good matchsticks)
and most of all they worship the way
you can disappear. everyone loves
a good disappearing act, and you're no
exception. they love it when you're gone,
don't they? you know it.
they love it when you turn to ash.
when you're sawed in half - they
eat it right up. don't even check to see
if you're still in one piece.
(but that's okay - it's your stage.
you're pulling all the strings here,
anyway.)
a/n: i tried a different-ish style? very subtly different but different nonetheless. also there's a line from motion in here. i plagiarized myself.
