I’ll treat my destruction like a spa,
my demise an aroma like perfume.
Wear your eyes like designer,
lament with ink like eyeliner.
Drape my guilt over my shoulders;
nostalgia covers me like a shawl.
Pair my eye bags with a heel;
the shoe slips on like glass.
Watch me finally shade match
grisly decadence to my soul.
Put my pain on display,
call it a performance art.