You're making me so hollow my ribs are giving out
And caving in.
Now
Make me a promise I haven't thought of yet.

This hole in my chest is up to my shoulders.
Anchor me with that thick substance
That fills all these others whom remain on the ground.
Impart what I lack,
Pull me down,
Push your words in my mouth or your eyes through my lashes,
Put your fist in the growing gap underneath my throat
And with your fist in this spacious
bloodied chest,
Something will move.
You, who has words and fists and eyes,
Made for intrusion,
Somewhat like,
Me,
You, who theoretically completes,
Me,
theorhetoric