dude google docs poetry is like um

The lacerations write themselves so you lick the wounds like they’ll heal faster.

Is it the self imposed intimacy that calls you?

A priest’s confession with the shame and pride within yourself.

They touch- tongue to scar.

You will linger and

you will cry and

you will bury your head onto a shoulder attached to no torso

but your own. 

Nothing's sadder than being your own bastard.