There are things that only the
bathroom floor knows.
Creeping up
in to darkness the
secrets layer
the tiles with bruises,
spreading like the flu.
Catching colds from the germs
that float around high school
bathrooms and door handles.
The ocean waves have
punched with a fist of fire,
Knocking down wooden doors.
Easy target to say the least.
A burning heart
full of desire and want
reduces the intake of calories.
As the moonlight glimmers
on into the dead sky of mourning.
Bodies lay upon their
beds covered in warmth
in such a deep sleep.
Mine, a rotting corpse.
Dressed in wilting roses
pouring out of  veins.
Girls, we burn our skin with
cigarettes and perfectionism
With razor blades and  the one wish to fulfill.
It is a holocaust. It is the blood stained gauze.
Always the body that burdens.
The embers spark into intoxication of the mouth.
This is the song  we do not deserve.