Throw the quilt over me and let me accompany the dust bunnies in between your couch cushions; I will never exist, and therefore will never be able to remind you of yourself.
Bend back the accusation of my finger, and break it in half. Shove the knuckles into my mouth so I can gargle bone and vein (if I’m lucky, I’ll choke). Take this foolish heart and mince it with the flourish of a British television cook, and sell the recipe of heartbreak to every salivating, hungry viewer. Let them write you on how sweet it tasted with a side of innocence, and how the aorta melted across their teeth and tongues.
Keep the shortened, secret version to yourself, please, because I do not want to imagine another screaming: “use the other half of me!”
Get rid of it – devour me: do not make me watch as you give away parts of it to everyone I know – morphing faces of care into lust, like I don’t know what evil looks like twisting the features of someone I love into someone I don’t. Do not graph my reflection into symptoms, like promiscuity, the international (national; state; local) data spiking with my addition, like the moans I hear when I give away pieces of my flesh.
Do not turn my own fingertips into an enemy, when touching feels like sinning, breathing, dying. You have taken away more than the feel of my skin for the times when you desired it. You have beaten “no” out of my vocabulary with metal bats, evicted romance from the libraries of my mind, fashioned the minotaur to haunt its alleys and never let me escape the books I see of you, me – us, drinking in sunshine through our grinning teeth. Us, singing harmonies that cling to our bones in a desperate shipwreck. Us, biting the bit of trauma; and you, fondling it some more to find the best angle at which to slide it between our teeth and grin, as one: you 'n me, you 'n me, you in me – this time, in a whole new light (mine turning green, green).
The moon is my head, a cratered mess of dreams men howl to. I tuck the dark side in the back so I do not gag on the stench. I grin and wave and wink, all coy and dying. My skin only deals in breath let loose against it, and I cannot control the coffin of my mind.
This is one nightmare too far.