number 41
she sits there in her bed sharpening her knives. the edges are wearing dull. im sitting on a field of names. all crossed out. all no good. I'm number 41.
she takes one of the blades and cuts into my skin and says: “see, this is love, this is my love”. and i said “okay baby”. and she cuts into my skin again and says: “this is love, i was taught that love hurts.” “i was taught this love by my father”. “he taught me when he beat my mother”. “don't you love my love honey?”. and i said “sure, its great”. and i sat there, for a few months and she carved her love into my bones. and i sat there, thinking about home and food and my guitar. all the while she would carve and say “you'll never find better love than this” “you'll never find better love than this”.