I gave the voices your tongue to hear their words in the voice of another. How differently I hate myself when the recital of criticism takes on a separate tone. The ex-plosives are missed as your snipes detonate in an uglier timbre. The richness of that trill is taken as an ever renewing esteem tithe, gradually depreciating my self-belief’s valuations so the bare bones can be given back to the earth cost free. Would the words you made me delete have made any difference? They’ll greet me when I finally give into the bitterness and momentarily regret all I hadn’t the chance to regret before.
Razor blade eyes graze deep in the sin
Exposing the tarnished rust underneath
Dead layers of poison blushed rosy skin.
Remorse slathers its thick tongue against
Every inch of your grimacing, paling face.
Detached enough to only feel the spite.
Rehearse the pleas for mercy at the sight of
Extraction devices seeking to remove the
Decaying truth from the depths of your memory.
Realise that the crimson wound in your chest
Echoes with the wishes that you had started
Dying before you stopped the others from living.