Ego

carus ego

she writes pages upon pages
trying to expel that hated spirit from her bones -
herself -
and now she's crying
hush little fascist, don't you cry...

is deficio

trying to stuff those feelings into the
slender curves of letters, the emaciated
scribblings of words like seismograph readings.
mind to muscle to pen to paper
like a game of telephone,
it's always getting distorted.

miserabilis vox vocis

darkness makes a softer canvas
to smear and stipple that misery on,
the cadmium tones, the alizarin inflections
bursting and bleeding,
painting the air.

in secretum

the self-loathing is a rush,
moaning and peaking violently
under her skin.

immortalis

so go fuck yourself with your
poetry
you know it will give you more
pleasure than any disgusting human.

ego mos.
is vultus sic decorus
in incendia

--
apologies for the lack of cohesion, as always.
and yes, that is latin. for any latin speakers, i used an online translator, so it may not say exactly what i intended.