Penny for your thoughts, love.
Let’s spill our guts out across the floor, wielding short blades of blood-blackened steel.
Ancient and sharp, carried between our teeth.
Try to shove the innards back into each other, no instructions, just instinct.
Let’s count how many stitches it takes to keep everything inside. Just enough thread to pull the ragged bits of skin together over our fragile bones and soft bits.
Penny for your thoughts, love, do I look pretty spread out across the room, reddened and empty?