She's no beauty, mate
You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.
I can see his pain, see it in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, over and over, and I understand what it costs him to hide it all.
You couldn't be perfect enough to keep the world from betraying you.
When she can't bring me to heal with scolding, she bends me to shape with guilt.
All the small, simple, conscious acts of living a sudden defense against the dying we do every day.