And now it is perfect,
you lusting after me,
for I am far away
from your lips and acid,
which scar.

When I need you,
you aren’t there
for me to explore
and explode.

Late at night,
when I stuff my face
with sugar
and photographs,
it’s perfection.

My knees buckle
and my infinite weakness
feeds on my innards
and bile.

And now, it is perfect.
You’re lusting after me.

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