exhal(e)t my chest heaves and caves. you pull. that strength. extract it the wooden hilt of your crude cleaver is dripping with the clamminess of your hands. if i were more than a soul, i would cry out. anguish for i suffer again, at your hands you tug, once more. your hands feel as if they are reaching into my chest. give it up. was it you that spoke? or I? suffer no more. and then. we sit. cavernous cavity of callous calamities you wrought upon me, now gaping gross, garish, grotty before you. eyes arrested by the sight, heart wretched in worry, you crawl between my legs, wrest the red thread your own tattered heart, grasp the flaps of my pulpy, riven breasts twine them with your fingers artisan, you are not. bungling and fumbling, you sew my body back into itself. the needle, beginning silver, its tip becomes coagulated in red, brown, and black. jagged like the embroidery that now adorns my person, your soul, a smile begs your lips to free it. i inquire after it. you toss your kit away. finally, no weapon preceding you, you touch me. our arms lock together as you lift me. we rise. we don't let go. we press into each other. we inhale. exhale. exhalt our body. will heal.
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