Smeared ink on her belly. Lyrics. Poetry. Prose. I dip my fingers in the pot and scrawl whatever I please from her belly to her breasts. Alienation. Cancer. Secrets concerning the loss of virginity and the first time I touched a vagina. Squeezing tight, sunlight illuminates the flesh of my eyelids and the whole universe is contained within me. All the stars and trees, they pulsate through my veins and shoot from my cock. With the fluid that comes out, I use it to heal her wounds, of which there are many. Some resemble the features of her father, while others appear to be biblical. All those chains. Those hooks that keep her dangling. My shadow is a jackal. My liars tongue a feather to induce tears. Such gentle laughter as she lies there with her eyes on mine. So wide they shine. So blue and green and brown. Flick the cigarette. Suck on dead air. Place it on the bedside table. Push it against your flesh. No television, just books. No dildos, only fingers. Strip it back. Peel away those layers that shield your heart. Take the blade in hand and stab stab stab until you bleed just how you bled before.