I break my knees
Bend them backwards
And kiss my wrists
I peel my lips
From my teeth
And contort my spine
I compulsively rip the skin
From my fingertips
And lick the bones
I smell of an
Open casket
A rigor mortis remembrance
Wet like rot

This poem is obviously a mini body horror. It’s about deconstructing myself but everything I do makes me raw and hurt more

The end is the feeling of fatalism that accompanies that