.𖥔 ݁ ˖

to open a body is to read it—the liver, the lungs, the heart. I want to reach into your chest cavity and hold your heart in my hands to see its longing, its absolute, pathetic dependence on me.

my body is a map of my devotion. every cut is a confession of my need for you.

words are imprecise, filtered through the distorting lens of the ego and never to communicate the exact abstract concept in the head. but a scream? a spasm of agony? a drop of blood hitting the floor?

I am trapped within these fragile, porous walls, forever separated from you by the thick, impenetrable barrier of skin.

If I can open you up and sink my teeth into your bones, I could finally know every ache, every tremor, every secret you have buried deep within the marrow of your bones.

I want to be the sharp, stinging reminder that you are flesh, that you are fragile, vulnerable and mine.

it is not enough to be near you. I am so tired of being a separate entity. I want to weave my nerves into yours, so that when you feel a shiver, it is my own spine that curves; when you feel the phantom touch of a blade, it is my own skin that parts.

When you're just grunting, just making those small, pathetic noises. It's like you're finally stripped of all that useless pride and I can see you.

I'd let you break every bone in my body just to feel your grip. Don't be gentle if you don't want to be.

You're the only one who knows anything about me. You’re perfect. They wouldn’t understand like you do.

I want to hold you while you sob. I want to press my face against yours and breathe in the salt of your tears. Everything else is just a performance.

My arms can be your cage, I can hold and protect you. No one else can touch you.

You make me feel like an animal. My higher self says it’s disgusting, reprehensible and shudders with guilt, but still I lead your hand to my body as I to yours. You know I can’t help it.