Call me a haint
’cause I’m haunting this town 
like a spectre made of ash 
and regret

Call me a saint
’cause the road to hell
might be paved with good intentions
but I got lost somewhere along the way 
and paved it with sin instead

Tar and feather me 
so that I might find redemption
through agony and retribution
then quarter me like pocket change
lost in the wash
rattling in the dryer
like a snake in the desert
flicking its tail in fear

I invite this healing pain
like a martyr for the cause
but the cause is self-love
riddled with failure and loathing
I invite this torture 
because when it hurts on the outside
I feel as if I can breathe
because it makes sense
and I am whole
and I can manage

and

anything is better
than this godforsaken
sadness