I’ll Stitch Another

and I’ll selfishly hold on to what I lost once

Why did I offer to fiercely slit my chest bare?

Solely tear my frail skin apart fervently, while aware

As if I couldn’t wait to bow in the evidence of my sacred devotion

Slicing deeply to faintly scratch the surface of the bone in erosion

With the rapid eagerness to 

see

hear

feel,

The drips of blood splashing as a witness to display my constancy 

And it reveals my ribs quivering under dubious trust through vibrancy. 

You grasp as you relentlessly crack them apart. 

How did I allow your filthy, greedy hands to clutch my raw, naked heart?

Provoking it in the melancholy of familiar soreness,

Inciting it to achingly throb into a stirring sorrowful mess.

You secure your fist,

Squeezing with a malicious grip that would be misread as one for love 

A raging rush of ecstasy races in with what remains of my blood 

Thrilled for you to clutch my heart,

Hold it, squeeze it, and…

If only I knew,

You would rip it off my chest.

Hollow.

Devoid, carved out by the same hands that were once intertwined with mine.