Stop making the assumption,
she did it for attention, she cursed herself
sickly to the soul,
aged morbid and manifested,
covered in guilt and flesh open lonliness,
raw and thick in her veins.
Her clockwork soul ticking and tocking,
her brain system ready to block.
Everything that's thrown into the dark,
the fiddled rhymes, humid with
intimatic want, need.
Smothered itself inside the host and
blanked at the blade of hope.
Sidetracked drama and puns aside,
forgetting the amnesic arsenal thoughts,
sediment figurines jolted stick tricked,
sad and sick. Broken and jilted,
solemnly pushed away from life.
It's just an assumption,
but words stick like blades.
