Tag: i

The God’s honest truth is this:
I wanted to ruin you. It was selfish and it was delicious.
I wanted you to pick out the bones of me from between your teeth for years after I happened to you.
And I did happen to you. We made sure of that, didn’t we?
Happened like the aftermath of some gruesome accident, it was so bloody and raw that you had to stop to look, didn’t you? And then you couldn’t take your eyes off it.
It was inside of you for as long as you could remember.
Then you had nightmares about all of that ugliness for days.
That was how I wanted you, half thrilled and half terrified that you were never going to forget what it looked like.
That it would be a splinter that never worked itself out of your skin and you’d feel it whenever you brushed against somebody else.
And why should you? When I loved you like that.
How could you forget?
My body so full that if the ocean tried to take me, the only thing that would come back up to shore was you. Or a bag full of bones curled around the shape of your name.
I loved you like how an abscessed tooth beats at the root, incessant and painful and raw.
I would have swallowed the entire Earth whole if you’d asked me to.
I would have taken the sky by the corners and ripped it away from the horizon.
So yes, it was the hungriest I’d ever been.
It was the most glorious I’d ever been, with you like that
stomach like a furnace, stomach like a hungry pride of lions.
Point me in the direction of any God you know and I’ll tell him,
I’ll get on my knees and beg him to never let you go,
‘I want to ruin that man. I don’t want him to ever forget me.’