It won't be easy to love me;
it will be a massacre.
You will have the gun
and I will give you the bullets.
You will have the blade,
and I will run into it.
You will kill me everyday
in ways you won't even know.
The blood splatter
will be everywhere.
My heart cracked open
like a shell casing.
But there will be beauty
in the slaughtering.
A pattern of love in how
the blood drips from my chest.
Even if I die a little each day,
I hope it's at the end of your knife.