STORM DOOR ON THE SECOND FLOOR

my stomach is way too hot for this. its too late to die now, this place will become your tomb. i laugh at myself when i think about the times i used to believe in you. shit down your neck, blemishes on your bones. is this always how you pictured it would be? somehow your skin still turns black, just rinse it off with blood. my eyes will fill in the blanks. you compromise trust with everything you encounter wrap it up, your death will delay me no longer. give it up.