Please be my dear again; your reason is to wreck me, open me, look inside my ribcage. Keep doing that, keep looking inside me. Be careful, get the lever, do not try to be gentle. $70 worth of scissors should be enough to cut my lips off. Look, look. If you do and find no crumbs of God left in me, bury me, let the night feed on me. I will not crawl back. The earth will make love to my decaying, but it cannot kiss me back to life.
November 2021
