Here I am, spitting the fury dragons out
Here I am, grating your skin
down to truth, scratching away your faux colour.
I lift your sweat stained sheets, rummage beneath and
cut you off at your ankles. Then, I feel for your knees, and
when I find them
I nail them to the perfect imprint beneath your
clammy body. I move upward, farther upward to your
stomach. I wish you had a womb so that you
could understand the
torture of what I am about to do.
Life lurks inside you, thousands at a time,
all patiently waiting in line for just one chance!
I brought a blow torch for this.
I watch your skin bubble and slowly drip out of
character, down your sides and leak into your sheets.
You still sleep.
You barely flinch, snorting oxygen like a pig.
I move up from your melting pot, straight toward
your chest. Your ribs have been a great protector!
I have grown my sharp tongue out, praying that
it would not come to this.
I have no use for your heart.
I only want your eyes to open and see
me sitting here next to your truth.