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i can see your shaking under that skin, how your bones tremble and the gun blows a kiss

you are a hollow glass doll, painted in gold leaf. trying to hide your shaking crystal-clear, you slap patchwork value to cover up the cracks, hands stained with the color. but i can see through the more...

you are a hollow glass doll, painted in gold leaf.

trying to hide your shaking crystal-clear, you slap patchwork value to cover up the cracks, hands stained with the color. but i can see through the gaps within gold, straight within your curled up form, as you stand like a prize to show off, as stiff as a rod. i can see through you as though you had never clawed at the ground and uprooted rotting metal, plastering yourself with smiles so plated. i can see through your paint, into the shattered glass still so empty.

let me cut myself on the shards and bleed into you, until i disappear completely, until i fill up your crevices with my red. you are as sharp as ever, as dangerous as a gunshot.

you are so, so fragile.

would you like me to beg to be broken? would it make you feel better, superior to this mess in front of you?

it’s pathetic and endearing, how prideful you are. i want it—to beg, to be broken, disappearing into you, a bloody puddle—more than to breath, more than to live, because we are both selfish beings. i hold the words on my tongue before there’s no going back.

(i don’t want to go back. i want to die by your hands, and that’s why i know, i’m worse than you in every way. your hands would look pretty, around my neck. there are people i would leave behind, people i would hurt. there are none for you, and your smile is just another splint. i don’t guide your hands to my neck, but i hope they find themselves there, anyways.)

(forgiveness and love are the most disgusting sins out there. i am covered in mud, long since dead things, corpses i ignore. i didn’t make them, but they touch and stain my hands as if i did. i do not mourn them. the dead can be nothing more than corpses and ghosts, to the living. faceless, nameless tragedies, or pain.)

(i am filled to the brim and i want it out. i am flesh filled with red, my cracks are not patched in gold, nor do they weep this color. they are slices, and they ooze, disgusting. they are always replenished within this corpse. they are not dug from the earth and splattered.)

(but it can be ripped from me and stopped, this liquid, blood-leaded. this dead thing can finally become brainless, just a red clump of meat for you to devour. nothing but yours, or something equally dense as that.)

(i am jealous of your ledger, who saw the cruelty in your eyes and then no more. i wished that look was only mine, those words and hate and anger, that spite and bitterness misplaced. i wished they weren’t there, for a multiple of reasons, twisting ever further from sane. i wished they were for me, and me only.)

(again, i know, we are both such selfish beings.)

(i will never speak of it if you don’t. no one else has to know.)

...less

A playlist by
junkfuck
46 tracks
  • 2hr 55min
  • 4
  • 8 weeks ago