If your life were a book
Every mark on the page
Would come up for air on your skin.
The men who told you
They had to hurt you to love you,
You believed, and searched your veins
For the poison, the cure in your pulse.
These men, they peel you like fruit,
Satisfy their monsters with your sweet
Inside, play cards with your demons
As they suckle at your breasts.
And you spend too much time thinking
About what would be born from you
If one day he splits you open -
Furnishes his home with the trophies
Of your body, eats dinner from your liver,
Decorates his bed with your heart -
Still now, he lays bare your bones,
Builds you a future from his violence
Still now, your bones stripped,
You search them for blame.
