Mommy.

Slice right here, cut right there;
Mommy's got all the right bandages.
Blood drips, like tiny ballerinas
Dancing their way down that pretty silver drain.

Your face is a mess, and you look like shit.
You're much too fat, changes your clothes.

I slit open my thighs as I ponder what you know;
Am I pretty enough for you yet?

Scrape that makeup with half-bitten nails.
As mascara writes "disgrace" on wet cheeks.
Not nearly good enough, not even close.
Close, close comes that sharp friend no one knows.

Your makeup is running and your chins are showing.
Your hair is flipping out, go straighten that mess.

I paint my nails in the blood on my chest.
While he sits and cries beside me, knowing.

I cake my face in the blood you make me spill.
Pretty little war paints; puckering red lips.
Bright eyes of mine watch the skin curl back on my wrists.
Telling the fatal cuts of how I love my mother so.

You were good enough, don't go yet.
I loved you so, pretty little girl.

Blood dots the I's on her goodbye to the world.
Am I pretty enough for you yet?