I Know What You Want To Do To Me.

Time moves too quickly when you hit me, but it only distorts my sight. It looks like a haze, as if with the shaking of a callous peruser, the world has been suspended into rapid chaos, but it feels like motionless eternity, as if we were frozen as we danced on the tip of a needle and encased to be placed on a mantle, suspended in antifreeze, forever.

This is our snow-globe of violence.

You take a step back from me and look at me, your palm reaches between my breasts and grips my skin, exactly as I grip the sheets when you force your way inside me, like you're trying to grasp something that will contain you inside your own fist. You grit your teeth and hold me at a moment’s distance, close enough that I cannot relax my shoulders but far enough that I can see you as you are, not as what you do to me.

I know what you want to do to me.

You want to push past my sternum and into my heart, it's not enough to hurt it with words and games of neglect, you want to be able to attack it like my flesh. It takes too much finesse to massacre a feeling, to annihilate a heart, and I know, sometimes, you just wish you could stomp on it the way you do my fingers. I know you wish you could be as unrestrained and unbridled with my emotions as you are with my skin.

You want to savagely maul my heart.

You want to reach inside my muscles and wrap your fingers around my rib, hold it tighter and tighter, until it cracks and crumbles to dust; you want to rub the powdered relics of my existence into your skin and watch it sparkle with my fraility. It happens too quickly, sometimes, I know, and you want slow down the most agonizing moments of my experience and absorb them into your skin. I know you wish you could feel my bones give way to you, like you are sucking the blood out of a feeble, dying carcass just to keep yourself alive.

You want to taste my structure as it crumbles.

You want to stand too close to my face and scream at me until your voice starts to crack. It doesn't matter what you're saying, sometimes the message isn't found inside the words, it's found inside the volume. You want to fill me up with so much noise that I don't just lose my footing, I lose the concept of balance inside my head. I stay affixed before you while you bounce me around with angry waves of destruction. I know you wish you could scream your madness into me, like injecting me with your consciousness and watching it disrupt everything inside me like an unpredictable poison.

You want me to hear everything you feel in your racket.

You release your hold over my chest and push me into the wall, in this moment there is so much peace, it's almost unbearable, but in your eyes there are a thousand promises of destruction. I can see it, I can see what you want to do to me because it's who you are. It's who we are. Violent and mad. Uncoordinated grace. Disheveled and affixed. Frozen in chaos.

In our snow-globe of violence.