Thoracic Catheter

Elle Thompson

I opened a drain but loving you won’t leave my chest,

and the knife you stuck in me didn’t kill it.

Won’t you stick it again? 

Push it in, pull it out, let me drip down the sides

I need it harder, faster, rougher,

it feels good, I like it,

I’m asking for it, don’t worry:

without touch I’m not real 

but with touch I’m not mine,

so let the poison out my veins, 

put your hands inside my scorched lungs, 

it feels good, don’t worry, I like it

You melted me from the outside in, it hurt, I screamed,

but when I come home you rub warmth into my chilled shoulders tensing and ask me Does it hurt do you want to freeze and yes yes yes I want it I need the ice in my skin, it feels like clarity, it feels like pulling the knife from my throat, it feels like sticking it down yours: it feels good, I like it

I kneel before your bed clutching your ankle with dirty nails and I am 

begging you to cut me open and I am 

crying for the liquid to pour and I am

praying to freeze again: now I am

spring’s brittle-tense and your hand on my back could crack my spine and I am 

woodfire smoldering, you hiss as your hand ignites, I try to apologize but I am

becoming and it feels good, I like it

I claw you out, blood spatters the floor and it feels good, I like it, I am not your host, you were not invited, do you understand? Are you listening? Are you bleeding yet? I owe you nothing. My teeth are wet with violin strings of your marrow it tastes good, I like it

your hands are gone but my skin still scorches and it feels good, I like it