TRIGGER WARNINGS: abuse self-harm
ATROPHIC MORALITY >> swati sudarsan Was it perverse? That damaged love I made, The mishandled love I became. Or was it astute? To proliferate and expel my pain. Liquid heat pooled to my face from The voracity used to draw scarlet bullets. Each one begged for tears to embrace, Instead twisted in salacious sweat. In the gray between ruse and vow Was an exorcism of absent demons, Which sent my heart into my head To pound out the beat of attack. Thus an insidious love affair began between Cool metal lilting in me and on me. The only sedation the moment could bear Was a sympathy prayer for each slash. The smell of climax Murdered grandeur and trance. I was not quite a blank slate (a little marred for that), but reborn a sociopath unto my own. I hid my coagulated trophies For the four full weeks which I was tender: To the touch and to myself. Woozy in solitude of breathing raw, Literally wearing the pain that no one saw.
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