I'd rip every peircing from my body,
if it'd give me peace of mind.
The stories each one holds,
almost sickens me.
I'd imagine my tongue ring,
to be the most tainted.
How mouths has it tasted,
how many...
My face turns sickly as I picture those I've layed with.
The difference between love making and sex,
I feel the need to rub my skin raw after random sex.
I cry and cry,
even though I know I almost enjoyed it.
If I were so cruel as to use them,
as they use me,
I don't think I could live with myself.
Though who is really the creature among us?
I claw at my face,
trying to pull the feel of their lips off of mine.
It's like acid burning through my flesh,
my eyes sting from the smell.
My piercings, my stories,
could I really let go so easily?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem