BYE BYE
It's not like I've even written a lot in it, I just prefer it.
Anyway;
Adios!
Bx
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...I imagine, that you're fluttering beneath my bones as a bird in a glass house and that you are scrabbling at my sinew with gangly legs and tawny bill. [This is the house of destruction, where there is no room for love and it is far too small for us both]
My Body is on fire. It is a bird's manner to fluster it's way from harm and while I am burning inside I can feel no blame. But it torments me. Your innocence disgusts me.
I breath. No. Hyperventilate. Erratic and precarious. I am an irregular beat in a capricious Heart. I am a wayward clot in a flock of oxygen. A mutant cell. A Bad seed.
[I now know that there is only to be one survivour from this elaborate mess]
I dig into the gaping red sore in my sternum with wicked witch talons and pick at my skin with the same frivolity as a child would a boiled sweet, and then with tendon betwixt thumb and forefinger I tear fat from muscle in strips and discard them like bloody tissues. I bare a striking resemblence to a fabric doll as I snap my stitches and rip myself apart - stifling screams of scathing agony as I flay myself in viscious, violent passion so as to release you from this fleshy confinement, so as to provide for you a freedom I fear to allow myself to feel. To show you a compassion I could never administer to my own being.
[It's been over eighteen cycles since I captured you]
Like a remnant from a thickly lashed tar pit, a single trapestine tear falls from duct to cheek and smears like paint across my pores. My last one. I reach under my collar bone and seize my trachea with fist clenched and breath held. I know I am destroying myself but I don't care. I don't care as long as I get you out.
My throat collapses, my jugular punctures and the floor is covered with a vermillion spray as my head caves and innards spring out with a tug of love. My Atrium bursts from my breast in an amazing array of colour, flings to the floor. She Beats. One...Two...Three and then she is gone...
...
...There is a crimson bird picking at the insides-out of a torn doll with ragged feathers and a broken heart. For so long he had been kept inside her, free from harm but also free of future.
Now he springs across a spattered floor like a lost boy in an ensanguined playground. Hops, Skips, Spreads his sullied wings...
...My poor darling bird, You are all that's left of me now. And you must learn to love again.
Bx