Needle on my
Skin:
I
I
Saved it for the
Stitching--
For some fine
Surgery
[Though
I'm still
Apprehensive].
For some fine
Surgery
[Though
I'm still
Apprehensive].
I'm a
Record on repeat--
And none of me is
Matching.
I make potions
Of my body:
Pray to God
I'm still
Bewitching.
I hang lifeless from
A tree
Of all the thoughts
That
Still outweigh me.
I gorge until
I'm
I'm
Empty;
Mourn the
Idols
That can't
Save me.
Mourn the
Idols
That can't
Save me.