the sink is dripping blood and i place my hands under the faucet. dead girls listen to sad songs while worshipping boys who sing them. there are strings sticking out of all my loose ends. my fingers are raw from stitching together a childhood only to realize i am EXACTLY like the people i grew up hating. we throw stones at lovers who desire shelter and collapse into the arms of danger, willingly. i keep thinking about all the skin on my body. (I am so full of love and I am waiting for someone to gut me). blood like mine doesn’t stay in a body. it leaks from pipes and boils you alive in the shower. hands tense up, close around throats, and end up killing everything they prayed would stay alive. maybe i don’t know anything about love. maybe all i know is how to water it down until there’s nothing left worth draining.

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