We were two cripples dancing to the bitter end we live.
What is subtle and effective mutates to nasty excess. Oh those fucking demons. I should pour acid over them and mold the clay into pretty red red roses with layers. Me hiding between the petals. Safety within the very same monsters that would grow new heads. The last little bug waits to crawl and make it's way out of my system. It circles around my heart until it becomes dizzy and confused so right now it rests at the pit of my womb. Such a sad little roach without company to breed. If this was some other time I might be tempted to punch holes into my flesh and let the poison leak from my veins, but this would only make me seem crazy again. It is not me. It is you; You are the fucking mental patient and I am still tapping at your cage.