Pillowcore

If I were a little less;
a little more...
All the social eyesores,
could not make me think of you.
I can't not lick my wounds -
I can't not move my mouth.
I kiss and count the scars
when the word just wont come out.

If I were a stronger man;
of tougher stuff...
The disgust in my mind,
would rend me in two.
This should be easy
but you handle like cooked mutton,
I'd finish myself off,
sick at the very thought.

Yet now we're back here in this stained discarded bed,
the shadows play with us. Fucking with our heads
but they aren't strong enough to hold me from the truth.
This stained discarded bed, where i shouldn't have fucked you.