bearme you stab me it’s okay you mean it. i know you want it to hurt--not me you, you hurt. i take it. i always shoulder the disgust that gathers under your ribs, hold it in my arms it's spilling! leave it! -- you shout we don't acknowledge my burden. the stains of your tormented carnage melting into the cherry wood. why don't you cleanse yourself, child. my hands are too full of your filth don't. your eyes are welling with shame. don't. mourning for me does your heart poorly. don't. for what else is my purpose than to edify you from the shadows of your own lungs? your veil of pain, laced with regret, aching, despair. i carefully lay it behind you. and we march, this lonely train, toward your marriage to terror-laden guilt. i beg of you, let this matrimony not be eternal. but i am. and i will be. There! to sooth the heaving heart that you lay at my feet. oh, he weeps, so deeply, steeped in the bleak streaks of his tears. and fears, the fall of night when nightmares seize his unconscious thoughts and withhold a chance at relief. i am here. yes, i am still here. rest your furrowed brow upon my bosom my cleavage, still bleeding, still cracked open by your cleaver of self hatred, i am vulnerable before you now. so take me in. drink of my blood, let it suffocate you, slow, just as languid your ephiphany that i too am my own being, not the mere manifestation of your ego-riddled pity, does your throat not want to riot admist the self-inflicted cascade of iron? you taste it, don't you, are you not surprised at the dulcet, comforting notes of my fluid? then perhaps you want to make merry beneath the hanging tassels of flesh you have knit, my body? lift thy head now. can you not bear me? can you not meet the gaze of your devastated soul?
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