Intentions Poem by Ana Podarevska

faint smells of disintegration
overcame the lapse of judgement.
a craving for someone to make me believe i have them,
and always will.
self mutilation is simply a form of self manipulation
for the least disintegrated minds.
a trend is a string tied to your finger, tied in a bow.
will the teeth marks linger on your face?
a bite and a hit will wake you up,
no matter what you took.
was it good? everything you imagined?
i can't begin to process your intentions
because i haven't realized my own.