amputate the phantom limb of memory. childhood is a scab I peel raw-skinned, I’ve got an edge babygirl wants to die upon. I’ve got a body like a makeshift whip. I’ve got a body like a plastic knife, a blade used for the sake of throwing away. babygirl is a killer like me. babygirl is my demolitions expert, I’m her grenade stashed in an alleyway dumpster. babygirl, I’d be anything for you–trashed halo, electric carcass of light, your arson disguised as immolation. I’d die for you, but I’d die for anyone. I’d kill for you, but I’d choke on the blame. babygirl, I want you most when you kiss me goodbye, so show me all your new ways to ruin a wreckage. babygirl, pull the pin on me, set the bomb to zero in a ghost town basement. deify me. christen me your antichrist, your reverse big bang, detonation bright. babygirl, one of us is always leaving. this time, I want it to be you. all gods are disposable. you would know.
— BABYGIRL PLAYS RUSSIAN ROULETTE WITH THE ANGELS // h. yenna kim