If I could slit your throat
I would do it with the nail
of my pointer finger.
I would make a blade 
of my body. My body 
is not your wound to heal.
My body is not some 
proof of my ills, is not 
your sad acceptance or
a death wish or helpless.
And if I could starve
down to the bone,
I would pop your jugulars
with my ribs. I would 
make you see what I see.
I would be so beautiful.