What if I cut you out?
Cleave through the layer
of gristle, shave off the arteries.
Feel the blood drip down my
fingers, feel your last desperate
I wonder if like missing limbs, you’d
leave a phantom presence.
I promise there is a reason for
this violence. This is not
a sick fantasy, it is a cure.
Bear with me. Just until
I can separate your chambers,
find the broken, dark, dead flesh
that I know is there and hack
it all off.
I will then put you back together.
I am no monster. Stitch you up,
a layer of gristle, feed the arteries through
and stick you back. Just behind my breastbone.
See… I know after, when I breathe,
you’ll feel ounces lighter. All that rage,
pain and fear ripped out. You will have a new life,
a new vigor. I know this.
I don’t expect you to be grateful. What I do,
I do for me. The hollowness of your every thump
will be a reminder of my crime but
I will be free and for now, friend,
that is all that matters.