I’m behind you on the carpet.
My mouth is coming undone. It’s sliding onto the floor. You were holding me together with kite string, trying to hide all my skin and keep me closed, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. I must be coming loose. You’re in the pantry looking for spare parts. The knives could be my guts, the plastic bags could be my flesh. I want you to use me however you want. I roll over, trying to find myself, but you push me down. Start to work. I won’t get up until you tell me to, until I’m finished. Until you’ve made me the right way. Until I’m finished.
I’m leaving a stain on your stomach. My flesh is being strained through the string, pushing it out until it looks like old rubber, rotten and soft. I must be leaking. You let me up, cupping me in your hands.
You’re wrapping my face in copper wire, starting with the spot between my nose and lips. I don’t want you to hurt me. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I can feel the other end of the wire between your lips. Your mouth is surrounding me. Your warmth. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I need you.
Please come back.