viva la víctima

Say you won’t leave me yet, dear.

The night is long and I tend to
provoke
the shadows.

Gallows humour and fireflies
rumoured
to
haunt the
paid help
make me melt around the shins.

Days without a proper meal burnt
all my
empathetic words

and the
frills around your skirt
don’t hold hunger’s hands in
public.

Yeah, you’re
more than just
a number to me, dear;

say you won’t act on
bloodless coups
and help me
pour
crazy glue between
the cracks

that have been etched
in our backs like lewd graffiti,
3D representations
of ruined tact.

Say you’ll have my
backward ways until the day I
don’t want yours.

My affair with
victimhood,
cuddlefucking
sympathy.

See? I’m already getting bored.

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