Needs

I need a bottle, a chisel, and a panel of clean flesh to carve upon. A bottle to quiet the long overstayed voices, the ones who heckle, who ruin all that's left. A chisel to pry open my ransacked heart, for all to peer upon, to scavenge and hunt. And the clean flesh to tell the story of a girl lost and cold, who drowned herself in alcohol, just to make herself feel whole.

I give the others the false sense

of love, to get them drunk, to

make them vulnerable. In this,

I feast upon them and leave

my mark, giving them all the drama

and the bullshit that they all want.