Entertain me, tell me why you should live?
I loved you. I heaved and sweated and ravaged what little was left.
I collected vomit and mounded it to the sound of salvation.
I scarred and crackled and pleaded, spit sticking heavy to my thin chin.
A limp dolly. And you would be my daddy.
White and bloodshot. Pregnant. White little wife.
I was yours.
Pacing my cell making homemade pornography, not a warm touch or live face in weeks, but there was capital in being fuckable. Anything but the void. Anything but the silence of god loosening me to infinitely empty aimless.
I was sun-bleached in my sentence. I saw no end. I would carve myself if only it fed you.
It’s ok, though. It’s all ok.
If that’s what it takes.
If that’s what I am.
There’s a portrait of me -- knife in my teeth – and it is my favourite fantasy.
I stalk low and eminent, airless is the closing space between you and I.
And I’m the one closing it.
In a ragged swipe I reach for the knife and lunge.
See the shards of one who loved and loved more.
I learnt the word “unconditional” from good men and bruised women.
They’re the only people who fold.
