And I said, ‘Blood, finally’ but not to you. I think I want it over.
You get your hand around my neck
I don’t protest
It is not new new, I expect whatever I was carved from you were carved from also,
that I was born with your fingernails stuck into my vital organs and since then you’ve kind of
been choking me to death.
I’m vaguely aware you are probably trying to kill me again but I can’t stop thinking about how the arch of your palm fits like a mould across the cartilages of my throat and now I’m thinking
five fingers and nine cartilages that’s fourteen I wonder if that
You’re pulling your thumb across my jawline like you love me so tenderly but your pointer finger is pressed down on my pulse- a button, and you’re trying to turn me off. Thanks. At least
our feelings for each other are somewhat mutual.
And the skin on your hand feels so much like a rope
I wonder if it is rope. I wonder if the whole nature of matter has broken down in the two minutes you’ve been holding on to me because I feel you
physically all over me.
Or maybe my skin is the rope or maybe I am the rope or maybe my skin is actually your skin and my body was just shoved into it and you’ve always been all over me and I’ve always
belonged to you.
Well. There was never any getting out of this.
I try to unhinge my jaw but you have me like a handbrake, like a jail in full lockdown and it’s so quiet I can hear your tongue move off the roof of your mouth as you lean in to me-
And I’m scared of your teeth. I’m scared of your bitten down nails and your blistered hands
You treat your body like a machine (so it doesn’t have to belong to you), but right now your body is a machine gun, or some sort of heavy artillery, and it’s aimed at me and your ear is rubbing against my ear and then you are
and I’m not getting bullets but I’m still getting torn to shreds. You whisper little death threats, something about love, but you whisper it as something physical- no not physical- air, smoke, gas
this is a state prison gas chamber, everything translucent green, your hands like metal, laced with barbed wire, locking me in,
strapping me down.
And you’ve pressed your chin into my jawline and you’re whispering death into my ears and it’s poison poison
This is the part in the film where you shove a sword up my back or a hunting knife into my side and you sort of throw me onto the ground as I die like
but you miss the cue and they can’t cut to the better story line with the girl in the river. Good one.
My problem is you never kill me off.
You just keep your hand around my jaw and you tell me all about how you’re going to kill me so why don’t you ever just do it?
I don’t die and you don’t die and no one moves and I can’t go anywhere and I’m not dead but I’m getting so bored of being almost dead all of the time.
So you say nothing and neither do I and no one moves and god this is going to be such a terrible film, us just standing here interlocked like a sculpture but with chests
heaving and your knife at my back
ready for go time but there’s no one to start the scene and you and I
could never make this happen on our own.