I typically reserve that line for someone
after I hit them with a sweet burn text,
but in this case,
it was the bomb,
that was dropped on my head,
destroying every ideal of you.
so many questions i have.
however; i know the answers you’ll
provide will smell like the psych ward:
rancid, foul, putrid, shitty, and crazy,
concealed with bleached veneers.
blinded by its camouflage,
i’ve been inked by this octopus;
the toxin racing through my veins
until i finally bled out…on this page.