sometime before the clock hit eleven,
i thought of you.
i imagined the threat your caressing fingers possess
as they trace targets on the side of my belly.

i look to see you in mirrors and through
windowpane reflections,
but i am disappointed and relieved every time.

since i have matured,
food has become tasteless and i don’t
care for the smell of flowers.
i am addicted to what
surpasses substance;
i yearn for violence to a degree which breaks my shell,
and i rarely want my comfort zone shared.

perhaps the essence of my soul is
not meant to fuel a human body.
perhaps my neck needs to be twisted and shrunken until i
have no more breath or thought.

if that is the case, lover,
i beg of you to lure me with charm.
make my last night on earth the best two hours
of my life.
let me hear the wind screech and the washing machine cry it’s end.
let my last claw marks on life to be the ones i leave on the small of your back
when i see it best to prevent my death by hurting you.

then, let me sleep knowing that i
had lived my life to the fullest that i
had my wish come true with a genie
that was so generous.

let me experience thrill as it electrifies you and feeds your hunger.
my body will suffer but i will have ascended human form then,
so what does it matter if my death shall be gruesome?