i will not inherit the earth, despite what you believe

i've got a filthy mouth, and a gallery of scars hanging in my throat.

thirty seven years silent

and i still can't tame this skull caged constellation between my
temples like i have this lightning strike tongue that hisses so many
"f*ck yous" against my teeth.

i try so hard to write myself hollow, to corrode away my sharp edge
bones, and you think i am nothing, an insignificant nebula orbiting
the wrong atmosphere. you mistake my quiet nature as meekness and say
whatever you choose with no fear of consequences.

but, my veins bleed black ichor, and words are not ever only words,
mother f*cker.

ghost