Friday, October 13, 2006


I could mend myself, if only you would start to tear me apart, instead of leaving me here, picking myself into pieces and sticking them willy nilly to a page with an off brand glue stick and tweezers that were never mine but won't be returned to the owner. The sharp metal ends dig deeper than my nails and the clear drying of the glue doesn’t satisfy as much as the red stickiness that emerges from the small cuts I provide. You watch me delving into my arm, my leg, my hand, my cheek, missing the heart of me and smile because you know I’ll never go that deep. The red dries black on the page, soaking through the peach-pink of my skin with the jagged edges and I watch transparent fade to opaque. I scream soundlessly in non-existent pain and watch your tears course over your laughter in streams. Pulling the tweezers from my hand you stab them into my center and I implode on myself and blink out of existence the only bits left are the ones on the page.

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