I said. (original) (raw)

01 August 2010 @ 08:37 pm

"What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place; a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this imagine of our proximity, concerning as it does ere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough."

My feet hurt, yet I still walk. My eyes are heavy, but I still see. The world around me flutters by, yet I do not notice because your world is me.

I want the hand to kill the fly.

I want your body to consume me.

I want to skin you alive.