Ram your hand down my throat like you’re stuffing a turkey (I am one, after all) and rip out my vocal cords. Tie them to some wood and play it like a guitar. Even out of tune, the music will spell out all the words of the emotions I never told you how I felt. There really is love in here, I swear; it’s just trapped under some fallen debris. Pound me in the head and knock some sense into me while trying to knock the love out of me. Maybe you’ll be able to see it sticking to the brain-matter flowing from my fractured skull (you always hit harder than you should). Listen, I deeply apologize for being your disappointment; I’m so ashamed that I let you down. I guess I ended up being the lover my mother raised me not to be. Here, to make it up and show some form of affection, I’ll gladly rip out my heart and put it in your hand. But you should probably wrap it in rice and seaweed and eat it like sushi. A meal is more filling than my love.
Just be aware of the risks that arise from consuming raw meat.