This is rough-read at your own risk

Do you feel me?
I don't think you do
If you felt me,
really felt me
Your puny heart would break and shatter into the thousands of little splinters mine has balled into
If you felt me and the gashes from dicks and pokers and switches and knives and guns and fists and tongues.

It all runs too deep for you to feel
Especially when you can't feel me or anything for the noise of your own self-concern.

Fuck imploding so you don't have to feel the splatter of me spitting out my own heart. I won't vomit my pain into a toilet so I can flush it away and hide it. Like a miscarriage from a rape that I must have asked for because there is a hole between my legs. That every man thinks they need to fill.

I won't spare you the daggers you left in my doorway and expected me to stumble over to reach your love. I won't pull the punches and kiss your feet so you grace me with your gait.

You are unwavering in your lunacy, unfaltering in your distinguishable extinguishable existence.

You were over before you splattered into your mother's womb and ripped your way out. Crying at the injustice of your own release into this world. When They left you to cry alone they left you as it should be, alone and neglected. Exactly the position to kill a pestulance.

I want to tie up the alternate bubble you live in like a plastic bag filled with a lice infested comforter. I want you to live with no air as I have for months on end. Survive it, I dare you. So we can tie up the bag again and watch your pores seep ichor.