You think you know me? dissected for your appetite. wine, candles and raw meat tender and red. as you sit down for the first course serenaded by an open window with a whistling wind at the magic hour when the sky is a mosaic of pastels and blurred corners swollen with pollution bleeding for our entertainment we gaze without apology. carving begins. my hands with perfect fingers. still attractive after the years of breaking walls in adolescent fits, the palm soft from holding and consoling teardrenched cheeks from sad angel eye’s . the saturation never seems to dry with time. I wish I could have done more for my lost friends. at the time it seemed enough. the fingers. long with smooth nails and leather tips from years of steel strings forming thin trenches from constant pressure and reverberation building a permanent callus on each stem. I will never feel with any sensation again. second course. my heart. what a dense muscle. through each valve past each ventricle pumping adrenaline two hundred beats a minute at extreme conditions like being eaten alive and asking for seconds. sweating, grinding my teeth down to the gums when the roots produce red sand and I choke on my disfigurement. still the blood travels out the aorta to the top of the scaffolding shaky from incomplete construction to the source of all confusion. the brain. the final course. with memories as deep and wide as my contempt for every question you ask. the hemorrhaging never stops. floating in it’s own amniotic fluid sustained by insomnia and all the stubborn discord heredity can provide. definitely the most sour of your meals. and in the end when I become excrement from your self indulgence and you stare at your reflection. with that fucking conceited smile of yours. you still wont know me. ever!