This is an experimental piece where I tried to go out of my comfort zone and write in a narrative voice that was a bit different. The result was a manic, almost feverish outburst that reads like a relentless outpouring. 
i scream into a void and it opens its jaw and screams back at me. i think love is funny. you know my chest still has a scar from the time i cut my heart out into pieces so i could feed you because you were famished. i swear my lungs hurt when i breathe in because my ribs hold them way too tightly. i once bled out for almost a month but no one knew because i plastered a smile on my face and never cried in front of anyone. is it weird that i like thinking of you whenever i touch myself? i wish i could be you. i love the smell of your hair, it reminds me of freshly squeezed blood oranges. my mother slammed her head into a wall when she was fighting with my father. he laughed. i wish i could climb into your body and become one with you. i think there is something very wrong with me but there is no one that can fix me. i can feel a darkness in the centre of my chest and nothing i do can change it. i stopped praying after last september when i saw you and him fog up the windows of your car. i could make out the faint outlines of your bodies coming together as if they were two sets of a venn diagram. [you+him = intersection & me+you = disjunction.] why do i always lie to myself about you? i swear if you looked at me again i would pull myself apart and rebuild myself so i could be who you want me to be. i’m sorry i did this to you. there is no one else i want. there is no one else you should want. sometimes when i go to sleep i can still taste your blood on my lips, it’s sweet like honey but with a tangy aftertaste that will linger forever.  
Image: Chinmayee Mishra on Wikimedia Commons

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