tear this last running thread–
no, i don’t mind
i’m sure

you can love me with
blood on your middle finger
and i will love you back

if and when you wring me out
as a rag you used to clean up
the mess i made, yes, me

i will let you.
i am wrung. dial me, go on,
call her, i will let

your voice echo through
my hollow being since you unrolled
all the paper i had left

i am dispensable
(i also had a disclaimer, mind you.)

sail across the continents
with my limbs in your hands
and i will let you.

steer these boats with this dominance
i will be your sails, no,
that was before white was

worn and slashed across
my chest thirty-nine times,
now drenched in dark red

refresh the page.

you will find yourself
wedged between layers of
pocket lint

that used to be the
tissues you gave me after
you were done with them

your tears seeping in through the
welcoming mouths of my skin,
thank you for diluting my haemoglobin.

it was much needed.

take this all from me, yes
take it all.
you’ve already harrowed most of me dry.

these sinews are yours now
rip them as you like–
i have no use for these shreds
of myself you have left behind.


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