And when I’m six feet under and the bugs start eating at my hands
All they’ll taste is the lingering taste of others
All they’ll taste is the fading ink of a pen in my hand
As each finger gets torn from body, the bugs will suck up all my efforts to fix
They’ll swallow the need to reach for others
They’ll digest everything I broke in an effort to heal
They’ll lick up each nick and scratch made from latching onto something that forced me off
And when I’m six feet under and the bugs start eating my body
All they’ll taste is the humiliation the bag of flesh offered me
All they’ll taste is the efforts to sexualize in order to be seen, be appreciated
As they rip the fat off my bones, the number of them will begin to disparate due to the sheer amount of fat
They’ll struggle to nibble at the thin skin I swore was thick
They’ll burp around all the meals that made they’re way down in an attempt to distract me
They’ll claw deeper for hours to reach the bruised muscle and bone, still stinging with words that were opposite to ‘love’ and ‘care’
And when I’m six feet under and the bugs start eating at my brain
All they’ll taste is the rumours I swear never got to me
All they’ll taste is the memories of what could have been
All they’ll taste is words of others twisted to sound like my own
As they tear apart the flesh of my brain, break into my nerve endings their taste buds will be infected with all the thoughts keeping me awake past the early morning
They’ll choke on the what ifs, in another universe
They’ll eat out the promises and heave them back out as lies
They’ll swallow each imperfection that made up the entirety of my brain
And when I’m six feet under and the bugs left start eating at my heart after feasting on everything else…
All they’ll taste is the connections that will forever remain one sided
All they’ll taste is how difficult I was to love
As they break my arteries and veins in half
They’ll screech in pain and uncomfort as I try to love the last thing there for me
They’ll run in fear as my love bleeds down into the grass, pooling around
And finally, the bugs will die from the poison of my love