poetryyyy - i was a kickboxer for two years ...

I was a kickboxer for two years, but I have been hungry longer than that

Picture this, if you will. Picture me. Picture you. 

One must imagine desire as an animal, starved and ashamed of its hunger. This is desire to me, at least. A dog taught love through biting, lust as hunger- DO NOT SHOW ME YOUR TEETH AND CRY WHEN I PUNCTURE YOUR SKIN WITH MY OWN. I HAVE TEETH TOO. 

I do not have sex. I have boxing matches. Who will hurt who more?

Who will take me apart and put me back together in a way that makes more sense than this hulking form that carries me now? 

It’s easy to picture. Are you having trouble? Let me help. Put your hands here and I’ll imagine what your insides look like. What shades of pink are your guts? I’ll imagine you and me and the knife looking so beautiful in your hands between us. Light me up in blistering purples. This is conquering. Bend me over and I’ll picture the red of your blood. 

There are thoroughfares on the skull- I want you to trace them and follow the road. 

Bones shatter like fine china, ribcage splinter like old oak, layers of flesh lay out like laundry, scroop my marrow from its casing, cut and carve until i am perfection incarnate by your hands. 

This is how I want it. 

Can you do that?