It was just me, Lidia and Lola beneath the open-mouthed salivating sky. We stabbed silently at our already bleeding hearts, gutting them of the remnants of that thing called 'love'. We were jaded, our eyes now broken glass full of bonfire anger and hunger and mortality.
As we were killing ourselves to feed our pain, our skins created friction, touching, scarred, hurting, train tracks, microscopic holes. I gasp, overwhelmed by the orgasmic energy of suicide. Broken. Over.