I have filled myself to the brim with syllables. Constructed poems out of sparse emotion, grasped for something to fill the gaps. My taxidermist hands, tapped, tapped, tapped and here I thought there was nothing. No space between words in which I could exist. My feelings were plagiarised, colours water washed into oblivion. But you, that striking red that won't fade, grips and sucks the marrow of my bones and I am grateful, to have those teeth run across me. To be devoured in countless ways. I would suffer those little deaths
