my demons lurking in my trachea
breathing my screams
and I wonder
are monsters born or created ?
I resemble a crime scene
a corpse so mutilated by fingertips
that the only thing still standing,
the only part that belongs to me,
is the skeleton.
after the apex of my heart has burnt
between the cracks of my ribcage
nothing has remained
but the bones and the void.
i’ve held too many people
in the gaps of my collarbones
and now I realise
that the only thing I’m clinging to
why did you stitch my veins
if you would cut them back open again ?
how couldn’t you realise that
you are my murderer ?