my body is a home for every mistake i’ve ever made 

and my brain the rot in the foundation,

the decaying smell, leaking out of my mouth

ears, eyes, nose—

the barely breathing carcass on the side of the road,

a childhood of sexual addiction 

bleeding into every crevice of this corpse 

onto the asphalt, choked up on forbidden love (lust) 

roadkill, deadgirl, roadkill

a girl that had no love 

a girl that sought love in 

decomposition, the sweet smell of maggots 

within the browning flesh, eve’s rib split into 

a row of children’s teeth, 

sinking into corroding fruit 

a kid that was never taught the difference between

good and bad attention 

good and bad tastes 

a kid who is not taught to look both ways 

will walk right into the highway,

a flea-ridden faun caught in the headlights of false maturity,

left with these memories festering in the pit of their cracked skull 

this sickness, blood and guts, this disgust, 

they are disgusting, and i am disgusting

and there is no difference between i and her 

between the non-innocent child grasping for affection—

hand sinking as low as it needs to—

and me, now, still rotting with 

decisions i wasn't old enough to make 

dirty-handed, dirty-minded, 

half-buried on the side of the highway

half-alive, defiled enough that the only attention 

she will ever get is those who look away from her in their revulsion  

how can she speak with a mouth full of larvae? 

there is no defending this, 

there is no confession that can give her back the purity 

and how can i speak for her, with these memories sprouting into mayflies, picking at every open wound? 

and why does the corpse of a child whore deserve to speak anyway?

the words are already there, 

blameless and unlearning,

carved into her unbeating heart—-

“touch me, touch me, touch me

even if it isn’t in the good way.”