looking down at my sweaty palms a metal edge pointed towards me my thoughts run so deep i like the pain the hot feel of it against my shellac coat
pleases me when it stains the sweat the warmth of it, taste so bittersweet you did this to me rooted my pain the only way to release it was to bleed.
with the metal that pleases my senses up against me your words just like the blade.
pink and pale lines freckle every inch of my body they tell my story your words to say enough; are etched into my skin your name etched in the same way
you cut my heart first. you don’t get to bleed. you have done enough to my body.
now it’s time that it is mine again.
-fallen, my angel