Sitting on a low wall swinging my feet into the night watching you eat your own heart. Been dragging on this cigarette for a few years while you’ve been chewing. I’d suck your fingers clean if I could stand the feeling of you anywhere near me, but I’m a fifty gallon drum of busted glass and bent needles under all this pale and sweet.

I enjoyed my life lived at a distance, but liquor told me that wasn’t living so I dove into your chest. Sorry about that. I feel this pain you’re radiating and I can tell already it’s unforgivable; I’ll never let this hatchet go, it fits between my ribs, feeds the noise inside my skull. I did this, the blood on the sidewalk, I’m the reason it’s always nighttime, and I’ll fold this into a poorly stitched scar to tear open when you’re done. When you’ve moved on. Dig my fingers sloppily into the meat, pomegranate stains down whatever calm I’ve collected in the interim.

Science says it takes three weeks to break a habit, doesn’t even take that long to break a human, ask me anything because I already know. Did you see the one where cruelty looked innocent? Where the hero burned the world to hell to save it from the plague in his veins? I mean they chose to stay… Sorry about that too, I think they call it pyrrhic because, you know, pyre. Probably not but in this little bubble it makes sense. It hurts to breathe lol

I didn’t think there’d be this much blood or that I’d be the one throwing it up. I’d laugh but choking is bedroom sport because someone has to stop me even metaphorically. Someone has to make me pay and I guess at least la petite mort can jump the gap in my upside down value- I’ll tie you up and drink your sins but also you’ll die. You’ll die every time but that’s your karma, not mine. See that’s the trade, I purge you but you die. You’ll come out hollow and emaciated and perfectly clean on the other side. You’ll burn pretty with clear light.

Sitting on this wall thinking of new ways to hurt you, give your suffering a physical wound to exit through- Sometimes we need to manifest our sickness, right, and I’m charismatic and empathetic and a hell of a ride. I admire the way your jaw doesn’t lock up, I know that ten pound heart is tough, so you eat our pain and I’ll eat your sin and eventually we’ll be absolved of this insane bullshit.