and with their hands of words
they reach towards
my thoughts to slice them
to widen the cut
and tear open
my intricacies
digging for spice and mud

as you unsheathe analysis
I devour all the violence
of voyeuristic
snaking
searing intentions

I will not allow
this foul transparency
to be my autopsy

The ghost of spread lips
will haunt the house
inside your skull
because
there's nothing wrong
with being who I was