Literature
My Body is a Coffin
My body is a coffin,
I only take in the dead.
Tell me what you need from me;
I’ll be still as stone instead.
My skin is wrapping paper,
or must be, you tear it so.
There is nothing inside me:
no man’s lies are as hollow.
Your shade is that man’s shadow.
A red ghost chose you to haunt.
“No,” carved into his fingertips.
“Girls do not know what they want.”
A man stands beyond you, too,
An endless, violent circle.
It spirals down to misplaced hands,
Golden fetters; fetters still.
You asked me what I wanted,
then you let me break your jaw.
I felt like a loveless bitch,
I felt like a temptress whore.