Where do we stand?

We're like a couple of broken DNA strands.

Your mother left you when you were young;
you were this tall, barely a know it all, and your body
grew thinner and thinner as they days went by.

Do you often dream of the night

I dragged my fingers across your ribcage?

It tickled you into adulthood.

I sawed you in half
held you down until
you cried for me to stop.

Limits weren't my specialty in those days.

But you asked, no,
begged to be torn apart;
said limbs were for soldiers
and dolls.

How right you were,
with two elbows and
kneecaps edged into the
wood floor.

Now were do we stand?

As we lay like bags without sand.

I await your response.