I think it would hurt less
if you would just say something
because even if you’re driving nails
into the runny whites of my arms
at least you’re touching me
again

and yes, the blood might slip a little
staining like deep crimson roots
down my nice satin shirt
(once pristine,
now a thrift store MASSACRE)
but at least my scarlet rivers
would assure me I’m still alive

and maybe it would make you
happy
to see me writhe in my repulsive
humanity
(because then you would’ve been

right

all along, right?)
and while it would sting to see your
perfect hollow cheeks FLUSH rosy
in cruel brutality against that which
onlylovedyou after all…
at least I would know,
you’re still alive

too.