Week~Old “I love you’s”
I wanted to write something for the one who I focus on now, who I have chosen rather than chosen by illness … I don’t know how to call you here — all my entries will blur together. But any onlooker should know, my sweet dog, my lovely boy.
My will is weak, you know, dear? So weak. My self—preservation has never been the best. I bend until I break, I give until I’m drained. But you don’t know any of that. You can’t know any of that, because I don’t do it for you.
Instead of kindness, you receive dissection. All day, you’re on my surgical table. I preform autopsy, after autopsy, after vivisection. A look inside you, a look more, and more, and more, and more. I pull it all out, I zip you up empty, then cut you open a different way to put your innards back and watch it all rearrange itself.
You don’t understand any of that, do you? I long since cut your brain, of course.
You’re only thinking “Wow, she really wrote about me”, I’m sure.
You’re lucky — such a lucky dog you are, to have a kind, gracious owner like myself, who feeds you endlessly, forever more (If only to have more to drive my knife through).
You’re so nice, and so pitiful. You’ll never get a look at the red within me until the day you kill me —
I will make you kill me,
— and even then, it’ll be creamy & golden, so unlike your own flesh and gore that you cannot comprehend it.
All you are is mine. There’s nothing left to you. But there’s so much more to me.
Cling to me forever, try to drag me to your level futilely. You’ll never join me above, and I’ll never settle down below.
I’ll kiss you when we meet in the middle.