Dear Reader

I am on a train back home from Boston where I have died
I slow down as the train speeds up
Breathing in annal conversations behind me to lessen the dread of going back home as a corpse
Pretty as it may be
I guess I should practice smiling
Practice shaping the vowels on my lips
Letting them slip cleverly yes I am okay
I can't let them know I am burning inside and out
That my skin feels like sandpaper rubbed over concrete
How I stab myself in the stomach with empty dormitory keys in the bathroom stall
To open myself and force those tarmac covered bugs he kissed into me
Crawl out and fall on their backs helpless showing their soft bellies

I am a bug on the cold tile of this lonely train station back home
I am the sick that swells and rots
And I just hope the stench fills and stretches
Into the next station please don't look at me.



Credits
Writer(s): Marielena Cartagena
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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