[i]
[hate]
[long]
[goodbyes]





your hands were cold
last night in bed

and your voice hurt to hear
so i asked you not to talk



but i pushed the scalpel
across the pillows just the same

then anesthetized myself with amber
and bared my childish breast



your mouth looked so unsteady
with the blade between your fingers

a minute reflection trembling
to the uncertainty of our breathing



yet the burning scent of freedom
calmed the storm in your wrists

and a night of peaceful sleep
lured away the straggling doubts




[and]
[you]
[began]
[slowly]




with feather-fine incisions
you perforated my outsides

i heard teeth cracking as i bit
into a bullet carved from your bone



your breath was damp against me
and burned like tiny pricks of starlight

sweat beaded charmingly on your brow
and i knew i'd be your finest work



so i waited among the sterile sheets
of what was once our love wraught in flesh

the quiet warmth of the matress
like a foreign face to my hands



but every second resounded
with a jagged-edged forgetfulness

and i couldn't see the masterpiece
waiting beneath your million papercuts






[i]
[stole]
[the]
[blade]





cursed your tender attentions
with the fire-bite from my fist

a hideous squelching agony
in the relentless way i carved



too impatient for your methodical love
and reluctant to wait out the healing

i thought it best to sever harshly
and bleed out whatever infection may come



i'll take pride in the slanted scar
with its pale and waxy skin

and i'll hang your bullet from my throat
as a souvenir of my self-mutliation days



you can take my heart with you
for a pulsing and wet reminder

anything you can do



[i can do better]

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