Your inner children
Grew into you and bore you a death so alone.
You were whittled from the marrow
Of your father’s bones
And took on illness
And whored it like a kitten.
Three cheers for sickness and desperation.
You two fucked your teenage madness away
With petal shards
And serpent tongues.
A pen doesn’t merit brilliance
And neither does notoriety
So wear your suicidal narcissism
Like that apron you both loathed so well.
Girls don’t smile the same way since they looked down into your bell jar.
