maybe i'm wrong
if you are at the center of me, you are tied to strings attached to the surface of this body, to the wire-mesh cage that encases all these soft things. if you could stay still, nothing about this would hurt, but instead you thrash and fight to get out, pulling tight the strings attached to my ribs and stomach. so i struggle for breath, you keep tearing flesh from bone, and the most twisted part of me will enjoy the way every movement burns. it will enjoy the lacerations and the bruises that appear on my skin from internal bleeding, the feel of your claws hooked into tender flesh.
destroy me. i can't love you otherwise.