Help me

I’m back in that space
where it’s perfect to be
spread for you, gorgeously undone.

I know you know what I want,
the cold scalpel,
the hot stone,
the heaviness of your glove,
the pressure of your fist.

Back in that space
where I can hear
the crying of your heart,

the wanting of you
to bend me, break me.
You know I know what you want,
the split of me peeled open
and singing for you.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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