i let the words eat my skin
like they are the hungriest of creatures
and i am a generous plant
giving my life to them so that they may live
although i
so selflessly made my own food

harm no one

the words ink themselves onto my skin
i guided my hand the same hand that wrote the words
but i do not feel like i wrote them
because i do not feel safe

all my metaphors are see through
im probably the worst liar
and every poem turns into a confession
i hate these words
i hate the mirror and the whisper of indulgences
too far out of reach

harm no one


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