So you want a ******* piece.
A piece of my body? A malfunction?
Then I’ll cut into myself with half chewed nails
And the bread knife by my bed.
I’ll pry out my hope for you.
I’ll pry out this malfunction
For your hungry eyes,

I’ll **** into your voyeurism,
And I’ll cough into your open mouths,
And I’ll pour my hate, the me that you hate
Over your tongue and down your
Quivering throat.

What doesn’t work on me?

My **** doesn’t work after days and days
Of shoveling draino, baby laxative, and *******
Into my face.

My legs don’t work after leaving
The ninth funeral I’ve been to this year,
In a black suit that’s threadbare
Far before it’s time.

My heart doesn’t work after loving,
And loving, and
Loving,
And having her **** my best friend.
  
I’ve seen myself starve.
I’ve seen myself die.
I’ve seen versions of myself
Come and go like setting and rising suns,
Waxing and waning moons,
That I could count a thousand ******* years
Of terror by their deaths and births


Have my hope, darlings.
Care for it and love it,
And wipe the blood off it.
It is all I have left to give
To you, this hope.

It will remain unwrapped,
Unribboned, unshorn, and
Bare. For you.
I give you my hope.