Absolute

I kill myself with words,

With words I commit suicide;

They're the best way to self-harm 

.
.

And nobody suspects a thing,

Can't see I'm dying deep inside; 

They work just like a charm

.
.

As daisies are chained upon the prarie 

In fingers of innocence thread,

These phonemes shred like vampire fangs 

.
.

They bite through my neck

Draining blood from my head,

As members of two hood-crew gangs

.
.

My soul is consumed as public art:

A refined old school party trick,

Its demise out on display

.
.

It's an invisible visible act,

Like I've flopped out a sodomous dick

And no one can tell I am gay 

.
.

And after the vomit has splattered 

and bone turned to dust

across pages of death 

.
.

No one can call it a crime scene 

There's no one to bust

Yet there's nothing 
of me 
that is left