I love not to be loved—
But to be dissected
I want you tear me apart limb by limb
And look inside—
So I can prove the infection hasn’t rot all the way through
My bones

I want you to rip my organs out—
One by one
From a rotten cavity in my chest
So I can prove my rotten exterior
Isn't the product of faulty wiring

I’d let you drain all of the blood
That runs through my broken veins
To prove my blood isn't the reason for my DNA—

So I can prove,
I wasn't created rotten.