Did the frogs devour you?

I found a hair in my gloss. I shot the sinner who infected the blood in my veins. Rot the arteries of my heart. A poisonous silver ran down my skin. Bruises between my thighs prove it, you weren’t just a product of my brain. Brain-cells.    

You don’t own me. You do owe me.    
I write down the color of my words on sticky notes. Just so they don’t slip through my fingers. I buried a squirrel in your backyard yesterday. His name was Gore. Hers Erog. Turn it around. Twist it. Mix it. Splice it. Nail it. Stain it. Smash it. Cut. Crack. Crash.               His cousin was a frog.              The other day my neighbor went away. I did not kill him. He went frog-hunting. I used my eyeshadow as lipstick because I ran out of money. Wasted it on tissues. Thought about getting a job. Despised the idea seven seconds later. Held a (5) five-millimeter diameter mirror up in the sky. The green of my eyes defied the countryside. It dyed brown within a season. Along with the winter trees. Now it’s blooming moss. I’ll be a brand new breed and                                                                                     
you’ll be
                                             dead.