Cut me open, but be observant


Dear Mr. Killer,

With belief in my heart, I am writing to you,
That you will agree to my requests, I have only a few
when you place me on your cutting table
and open me up, be observant and kind

The muscles that you rip apart
have been massaged with tori ko tyail
by tender hands of my young mother

The bones that you break
have been hardened through life,
but if they break easily,
must be because my father tried to provide an easy life
The veins that you might snap through
are carriers to cells the fruit of this wonderful world
and the nerves are highways to my head
They perceive beauty.
Do not cut my heart into pieces,
I have done that to myself
There are small compartments which lock away my secrets
You might be excited to unlock them,
but be warned, It will only bring you pain
My heart is a graveyard,
where zombie like thoughts have been buried
and where my relationships come to die

If you want, you can puncture my lungs
In fact,
You ought to puncture my lungs
It will release a lot of stress, Those heavy breathing and fear
moments I was unsure about myself, confused between leaving or staying
It will also release the smell of the beautiful world I have captured

You can have it all, my perfumery reserve,

some of the best smells in the world

Flowers, Food, Rain, Women.


Make sure you cut off my balls
They have always fucked up my good sense
actually crush them beyond recognition,
and feed them to the dogs

Please spare my eyes,
I value them,
Do what you want with my sinful hands
and my foul tongue

And yes,
when you stab my chest, be observant
Try to determine, where I go
how I go, and in what form I leave the body
I will be watching you.



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