bile and suicide, she said, i feel like bile and suicide.

driven to a point where it becomes blind hate, blind desire, blind rage. looking for blinding time, to be struck across the eyes, blinded, to be what she sees, to be what you see when she looks at me. how marvelous, how beautiful, how utterly disgusting.

i am the broken window that shatters each view, provides no warmth, keeps nothing out, cuts anything that tries to leave.

and there another scar she has traced, another scorched eyelid. i can erase everything but i am too greedy, too hungry, too nostalgic. i want circuits for memory to never forget her taste, her breast, her laughter. i can fuck your mind as much as you want me to but in the end, i need to remember when you go away and leave me with nothing. i need to remember who i was and who you made me be.

she looked at me as though i was the owner of wounded animals