You are
a twisted,



bent,





broken thing,

darling,

a cripple in your own mind.


You stand amongst

mirror shards
and cry through your smile;

you come running back to your reflection



again


and




again.


You're a dragon,

darling,

encircling the world
and biting your own tail

so you can feel sorry for yourself.


Now twist the dagger deeper,
through the soft flesh


between your ribs.

The blood in your mouth


tastes


good.


You're a cripple,

darling,

an empty thing
filled up;

a gulp

of gasoline

that slides
likes silk
down your throat

and settles in your belly



to be born.