if you said you were cold,

i would knit a sweater out of my arteries,

the sharp needles puncturing my chest,

drops staining the white dress i wore just for you.

but my love wasn’t enough.

wait, you don’t want my arteries?

have them anyway.

take your pick:

my aorta (i die soon),

my coronary arteries (i die quickly),

my pulmonary arteries (i die immediately).

either way, i bleed out in your arms, 

just like i thought/knew you wanted.

if you were running out of breath,

from trying to escape my mad pursuit for your eternal love,

i would let you consume my oxygen,

as i collapse to the ground, choking out silent screams,

because you shouldn’t be burdened with my pain.

what’s that? you don’t want my O2?

but i want to consume your carbon dioxide in tandem,

so let’s both relieve ourselves.

my oxygen for you, your carbon dioxide for me;

yet O2 produces bliss on your face, 

closed eyes resting on high cheekbones with satisfaction,

while CO2 draws my skin taut in agony, head wrenched backward.

i’m unable to cry out in anguish as my brain perishes.

if you wanted to touch my bones,

i would burn holes in my skin,

the dewy white on display,

my fresh, maintained calcium a testament,

of my unwavering passion for you

i live just to service you.

you… don’t desire my skeleton?

but i only kept it healthy for you, 

so don’t let my efforts go to waste.

cut through my periosteum to uncover the bone beneath.

go further: from my dura mater to my medullary cavity,

wow, you found my bone marrow.

you can touch it now!

or better yet, eat it.

if you wanted silence,

i’d cut out my vocal cords,

the thin, grisly cartilage,

glistening like grease on the sharp fork.

lick it.

my voice never mattered to you anyway.

oh, you think i could be silent another way?

i can’t – when i see you, i have to talk a mile a minute,

to express my desire for you. now watch:

as the fork is buried deep in my throat, my screaming will get hoarse,

and i will fish out my severed epiglottis, ventricular folds, and cartilage,

twirled around the arbitrary kitchen utensil like spaghetti.

if your favorite color was red,

i would slide a blade across my body,

swiftly slicing through the layers of flesh with urgency,

pearly white fibers glistening through the pink muscle.

trickling off the curves of my body,

the unsightly curves i know you hated.

hold on, my blood isn’t the red you yearn for?

is it ‘cause you’re afraid it’ll ruin your “soft coquette girl” outfit?

the deep crimson red (your favorite),

staining your “pure” white skirt and soul?

well, i flayed myself for you already,

barcoding my wrist as the sun rose,

so this is nothing new.

if you needed protection,

i would snap out my ribs, one by one,

and wrap them around you,

an off-white armor infused with my love,

so essentially, impermeable.

but when you gave me your shield, the dagger went through me.

“honey,” you say, “i don’t want your ribs.”

but i already took yours, so let me repay the favor,

starting with the clavicle,

all the way down to the floating birdcage.

hell, even take my sternum;

my lungs don’t need a prison when they have you.

if you were deprived of love,

i would carve out my heart,

a triangular incision next to my breast,

and fervently plunge my hand into the opening.

when you take all of me, you will finally have no reason to stick around.

you’re saying my heart won’t fix anything?

respectfully, you underestimate my unflinching dedication to you,

like a dog on its hind legs, awaiting orders from its master.

so kindly, take the pulsating organ from my hand:

incise it down the middle,

push open the four beating chambers,

and feel my love for you flow out.

not enough? of course it isn’t.

slice the chordae tendinae,

dice the papillary muscles,

rendering my valves and i useless.

all my love, naked.

now you have my entire being.

is that why you’re leaving? 

you become smaller and smaller in the distance, yet i can do nothing, 

only feeling the steady dripping of blood from the crevices in my body,

as i am left with nothing.