Why did I let you take away my secrets? You hollowed me out. You've whittled me away, and still, still I want to slick my tongue over your chest. Over your eyelids. I want you to bite me, growling, to let that lit-up anger, that anger that is always and everything, fill in all the spaces you have made. I want the snarls to snake out of your throat, wrap around my wrists, bind me to the bedposts.
You've removed my memories of significance, kicked holes through my chest, left me ragged. It is only now that I realize you might've thought that you were freeing me but god it just feels empty, besides that part, that wanting, that want that will not die. I've only got my senses and the sadness left.
So let's be animals, darling, if you really want it that way. Let all our sounds be guttural and grounded. Let me eat and sleep and live and breathe and die at the mercy of your eyeteeth. But do not pour my contents away and leave me with nothing, no rope in my hands, no bruises on my chest. Because I am not the type of animal who can survive both empty and alone.
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