If you can’t swallow me with ease there’s no means for me to be.
I’ll be Michelle Terry on a saturday night and delight those who just so happen to pass by.
See, I know how to be a hypocrite. I don’t dare try but there’s wickedness in my smile, flawlessly mistaken as “one of a kind.”
There’s nothing that is worth much from my part.
My insides are rotten and my hair is dry.
I’ve got pimples on each side of my face and a horrendous desire to run away.
My attempts to hide have let me down, time and time again, the foul clock of a life that is not mine ticking barefacedly, I feel it tearing apart my insides.
I kneel down as the crash approaches and it’s worms that come out.
It’s a wrenching smell directly from the heart.
I’ll clean myself for eternity and when I get to hell my punishment would be to dissect my own flesh until the river is dry.