ruin there is something obscene about the way you sit there, all that ink and skin, your face hidden like the rest of you isn't already a confession. i want to know what carved your edges. what put those flowers beside the dead things, what kind of violence wears a woman's skin and looks that fucking innocent. i have never been good at wanting gently. i see those tattooed thighs and think of religion, not the kind that saves, the kind that makes men crave hell. i want the mouth behind that fucking phone, the trouble in your eyes, the parts of you that learned to bite before they learned to trust. and if there is a devil beneath all that beautiful ink, tell her to come out. i have spent my whole life making peace with monsters. i'd rather meet yours with teeth bared.