Jun 1, 2024
june
She died in June.
Her corpse rests on the mattress
Cum stained, littered with cigarette holes
Though even in death, she could never rest.
Her eyes stayed barren of any emotion but repent.
Tiny slits littered her emaciated wrists
Pools of blood that had once
Flushed viscid and carmine
Only more stains on the mattress.
A scrapbook of her downfall
The devil lies in this room.
The angels bow their head in solidarity
Solemnly mourning her.
She was always a tormented soul.
And they say, If you listen very carefully you can hear her whining
“Im sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”
